


Raising a Wildflower

by tiaoconnell



Series: A Rose Blooms in Baker Street [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Big Brother Sherlock, Discipline, Family, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Kid!Lock, Spanking, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 183,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiaoconnell/pseuds/tiaoconnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shot fics containing stories from the growing years of one Rosenwyn Holmes, little sister of Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes. Energetic, affectionate, and too smart for her own good, it's a miracle any of the Holmes siblings survived her childhood! PREQUEL to A Rose Blooms in Baker Street. Includes disciplinary spankings- don't read if that bothers you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out all Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to the WIP "A Rose Blooms in Baker Street."

It was well after dark when Mycroft Holmes returned home. While some people might not think 10pm was all that late, it was extremely late for Mycroft; he’d been up since 3:30 that morning. Protecting Britain was a never ending job and seemed to grow more complex by the year as the nation was met with new challenges and he moved up the ranks in the British government. Not to mention his work for the British Secret Service on a strictly unofficial and hush-hush basis.

Opening the front door of the house, Mycroft closed it quietly behind him. The house was dark, but he wasn’t really surprised by that. Most of the house’s inhabitants should be asleep and he intended to join them in short order. 

He opened the door of his office and stepped inside. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Mycroft realized there was something in his large, plush desk chair. Moving closer, he saw it was not a some _thing_ ; rather it was a some _one._ A very small someone, in fact, all curled up and holding a teddy bear.

“Rose? What are you doing in my office? More importantly, what are you doing out of bed?” he asked quietly as he approached the chair. 

A head of silky black curls moved and his four-year-old sister looked up at him with sleepy eyes.

“Poppet, you know better than to play in here,” Mycroft scolded lightly as he plucked her out of the chair. Sitting down he settled her on his lap, smiling as a tiny hand grasped onto his shirt.

“Mummy said,” Rose murmured, snuggling close.

An eyebrow quirked. “Hmm. I doubt that very much, miss. Where is Mother?”

“Sleeping.”

“And you are not because…?”

A yawn escaped. “Missed you.”

Mycroft couldn’t keep the tender smile from his face. “I missed you today, too, Poppet. But it’s very late. Long past the time that little girls should be in bed. Who put who you to bed?” He truly hoped someone had remembered to put her to bed!

“Sherlock,” Rose told him. “He tolded me a story.”

“Was it a nice story?” Sherlock had a habit of turning current high profile crimes into bedtime stories, something Mycroft strongly objected to. His teenaged brother needed a filter sometimes when it came to Rose.

She nodded. “Very nice. And he singed me the baby song with the funny word. Melly…mella, I dunno,” Rose decided.

Ah. Sherlock had taken to using crooner songs for lullabies again, Mycroft thought. “Melancholy Baby?” he asked. “How long have you been down here, Poppet?”

“That one. I camed down when Mummy sleeped,” she admitted. “You took a long, long time My.”

He chuckled softly. “I’m sorry Rose. I’ll try to be home earlier tomorrow, hmm?”

She nodded, her curls bouncing with the movement. 

“And now it’s time for bed,” Mycroft decided. He stood up, still holding her in his arms. He smiled as a little arm hooked around his neck and Rose nuzzled her head against his neck. He carried Rose upstairs and into her room, putting her down gently on the bed. “Under the covers now; Teddy too.”

Rose complied, burrowing under the covers with her bear. She gave him a sleepy smile as he tucked her in snuggly.

“Good night Rose. Stay in bed this time, please.” Mycroft got up to leave, but paused when he heard a little whining sound.

“My!” Rose protested. 

“It’s bedtime now,” he told her firmly.

A could see a distinct pout on her face. “Kisses.”

Mycroft closed his eyes and mentally sighed. He really _was_ tired. Rose never went to bed, ever, unless everyone in the house gave her goodnight kisses. He sat down on the side of her bed and leaned over, brushing curls from her face before kissing her forehead. 

“Night, My. Love you,” she whispered, her eyes closing.

He smiled. “Goodnight Poppet.” Mycroft sat there a few moments longer, waiting for her to fall asleep. Had anyone told him four years ago that he would enjoy moments like this, and gladly bear the responsibility of raising his baby sister, he would have laughed. Now, he wouldn’t trade moments like this for the world.

_Twelve Years Later_

Hands clasped behind his back, Mycroft Holmes was pacing around his office. He tried very, very hard to be lenient with his little sister, Rose, who at sixteen was already at university, and tried to enforce appropriate rules for her unique situation. There was, however, one rule that he was absolutely unwilling to change, and that was curfew. At sixteen, there was no reason in the world by Rose should not be home by 10:30pm on a school night or 11:30pm on weekends.

Yet, here he was, pacing his office at 12:30a.m. Mycroft was certain he could feel his blood pressure rising with every moment that passed without hearing the front door open, or his mobile ring. He wasn’t an unreasonable man. Sometimes delays happened that were unavoidable and he had promised Rose that as long as she contacted him to advise him of a delay or that she needed a ride, or anything of that nature, she would not be punished for breaking curfew. At the present moment, she was one hour late, but for now he would wait. Surely she would call at any moment or unlock the front door any second; then he’d bellow at her, smack her soundly, and then feel relieved she was alright.

Only she didn’t.

At 1:15a.m. Mycroft hacked into Rose’s mobile. She was far cleverer than he’d anticipated and had no contacts stored in her mobile other than his number and Sherlock’s, meaning she had committed any other important numbers to memory. Her texts and call history were deleted as well. Worst of all, the mobile was off and he couldn’t trace it unless it was on.

By 2 a.m. Mycroft was giving considerable thought to calling the last person he ever wanted to turn to for help: Sherlock. He’d already gone to Rose’s room and searched for clues of where she had gone and with whom, but come up empty handed.  Grabbing his mobile, Mycroft placed a call.

\----------------------------

“Lestrade!” Someone called across the large room. “Lestrade! You can’t leave yet!”

Greg Lestrade stopped and let out a groan. “And why the hell not?” he asked his partner. 

“We’ve got a case. From high up. Missing minor, potential kidnapping.”

Lestrade frowned. “Not my division.”

“It is when our boss’s boss says it is.”

Scowling now, Lestrade grabbed the report from his partner and scanned it. “Rosenwyn Holmes? Who made this report?” he said aloud, scanning it further. “Lovely. Just lovely. Does anyone even know what bloody Mycroft Holmes even does?” He threw the folder on the floor and headed to the lift.

\------------------------

It was 5 a.m. He should have been at home, asleep, three hours ago. Only he wasn’t, he was scouring the city for some teenager having a fit of pique and Sherlock had been ducking his calls. But Lestrade kept calling all the same. Finally, there was an answer.

“Yes? I prefer text, you know that,” Sherlock commented.

“Well this is important. Please tell me you know where your sister is so I can bring her arse back to Mycroft and go home and sleep.”

There was a pause. “You’re looking for my sister? Why?”

“She never made it home last night, Sherlock. You didn’t know?” Lestrade was dumbfounded. Was the relationship between the Holmes brothers really so bad off that one couldn’t call the other when their sister was missing?

“No. Meet me at Mycroft’s.”

\-------------------------------------

“I do _not_ need your assistance, Sherlock!”

“Very clearly you do, brother. If you didn’t Rose would be home right now, wouldn’t she? She out smarted you. I’m really almost proud, but I’m too angry,” Sherlock growled.

“Oh both of you just _shut_ up!” Lestrade said. 

Rolling his eyes at Lestrade’s dramatics, Sherlock headed upstairs to Rose’s bedroom with Mycroft right behind him.

“I’ve already looked in here. There’s nothing,” Mycroft said. “That’s just her homework Sherlock.”

“And all her friends right now are university friends, which is where this homework comes from,” Sherlock pointed out. He flipped through a few folders and a couple notebooks before stopping. There was something circled, the pen dug deep into the paper as it wrote. 

“Find something?” 

Sherlock began laughing. “Ah, my clever, clever little Rose,” he murmured, holding up the notebook. “Its shorthand; my shorthand to be specific. I taught her that. You never even looked in this notebook did you? No, just called out all possible police personnel.”

“Does it tell you where she is?” Lestrade asked. He looked and sounded exhausted.

“Indeed. Follow me,” Sherlock said to Lestrade, hurrying down the stairs. “Don’t follow me Mycroft. I’ll bring her home.” He had a feeling that Mycroft wouldn’t want to be there when he found Rose.

“Where are we going?” Lestrade asked when they got outside.

“A ‘rave’. We really need to stop her from making friends with Americans,” Sherlock grumbled.

“How do you know it’s an American?”

“Because we don’t give children names like “Diesel” here.”

Lestrade laughed. “No, just names like Mycroft, Sherlock and Rosenwyn, which are completely normal.”

“Do you, or do not want to make a drugs bust, Lestrade?” Sherlock asked. “Because I could call someone else; Dimmick, for example.”

“No, I don’t want to miss this. It’s going to be fun, I’m certain of it!”

\------------------------------

“Sherlock, this is an abandoned warehouse area. No one in their right mind comes here for anything, let alone to have a fun time,” Lestrade pointed out.

“Who said anything about them being in their right minds?” Sherlock questioned. He stopped and pointed at one of the buildings. “This one. Time to call in people if you want to.” Without waiting for a response, Sherlock headed inside the abandoned warehouse.

Lestrade followed Sherlock, who followed the sound of laughter and music, which ultimately led them to an open portion of the warehouse that had been turned into some sort of lounge/dance floor. Random bits of furniture were spread around and people were dancing on the open area of the floor. Scantily clad young women and young men looking to get lucky were cavorting about in a haze of marijuana, liquor in their hands.

Sherlock’s eyes scanned the room and then he found her. His sister was sitting on some fellow’s lap, laughing as if she was high as a kite. He stalked across the room and the closer he came to Rose, the more convinced he was that she was high. Not smoking, but the amount of marijuana haze in the room was bound to get anyone high, and she was drinking from an exceptionally large glass of alcohol.

“SHERLOCK!” She squealed as he drew nearer. Rose tried to wave but merely managed to slop liquor onto the floor. 

An eyebrow quirked. “You cannot possibly be that glad to see me. In fact, I’ll make certain you aren’t glad you saw me. Get up Rosenwyn. Say goodbye to these people that you will never see again and then I’m taking you--” Sherlock paused. He couldn’t take her back to Mycroft like this. In all good consciousness as her older brother, he couldn’t just hand her over to _Mycroft_ in this state.

“I’m taking you home with me and we’re going to have a nice long discussion about how idiotic you are. Get up Rose. NOW!”

She giggled and stumbled to her feet.

“My god, how short is that skirt? That can’t possibly even qualify as a skirt. I’m burning it,” Sherlock decided. He took his coat off and effectively manhandled her into it amid a torrent of giggles. She stank of alcohol and once he released her, she sat down on the boy’s lap again.

“Oh, no. _No._ ” He hauled her to her feet and looked in her eyes. “You aren’t going to remember this, I’m sure, but just so you’re aware, I’m going to murder you in the morning.”

She giggled and sat down again.

Sighing heavily, Sherlock picked her up, put her over his shoulder, and walked out of the warehouse to find a cab. As he walked away, he could hear Lestrade roaring with laughter.

Once he caught a cab he practically tossed Rose inside, and then gave the driver the address of his small flat.

‘Found her. She’s fine. Taking her to my flat. SH’

‘Bring her back here. M’

‘No. She fell asleep and my flat is closer. Will bring her over tomorrow. SH’

‘Fine. M’

\---------------------

The morning came quick for Sherlock, who was far too worked up to sleep; not to mention he hadn’t been tired. Instead, he spent the hours while his sister slept through her drunken stupor deciding just how to respond to her behavior. There was no way he could just let this slide. As a general rule, he though Mycroft had too many rules for Rose and that was why she did what she did. Sherlock was starting to rethink that notion and even grudgingly admit that Rose was a handful. While he had no intention of telling Mycroft what he’d walked into last night, Sherlock wasn’t going to let her get away with it either. By the time she woke up, he had a plan.

“Ah. I see you’re among the living still,” Sherlock commented as she stumbled out of his bedroom. “How’s that head?”

Rose groaned in response and flopped onto the couch. 

“About what I suspected.” He left the room for a moment, returning with a tablet and a glass of water. “Swallow this. It’ll help.”

“Why am I here? I don’t remember coming here,” Rose admitted after taking the tablet. 

“That is not at all surprising. You had quite the night Rosenwyn! Party at an abandoned warehouse? Drinking? And though you weren’t smoking, you were certainly high off it just from being in the same room. You came to be here because _I_ found you, not Mycroft. And you should be eternally grateful for that, young lady,” Sherlock scolded. “Because Mycroft probably wouldn’t have waited until he took you home to smack you.”

Rose gaped at him.

“And don’t get me started on that skirt. It’s going in the bins, today, and if you fuss at me about it, I’ll burn it.”

“Who _are_ you?” she finally asked. “Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’m your brother, that’s who I am. And because I’m your brother, there is no way in _hell_ I’m letting you get away with that. You are in a world of trouble, Rosenwyn.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she decided. “Completely ridiculous.”

“Come here,” Sherlock said, crooking his finger at her. “Come here, now.”

“I’m good thanks. Stop being a git Sherlock. You’ve made your point. I’ll find a safer place to party next time,” Rose told him.

“That’s what you think I’m angry about? Just that and not all the other idiotic things you were doing? Do you actually think that is acceptable behavior, Rosenwyn?” Sherlock asked. “I consider myself quite lenient with you, but _this,_ my dear sister, is where I draw the line! You are going to be spanked, and I do mean _spanked_.”

Rose threw a pillow at him. “Shut up Sherlock. This isn’t funny.”

“Do I not look and sound serious right now?”

“You look like an idiot. Stop scolding me, that’s not your job. You can’t spank me, I won’t let you.” Sherlock hadn’t spanked her in at least two years! He’d never been much of a spanker to begin with, probably because Mycroft was so much of one that there didn’t need to be two.

“I’m not asking your permission,” Sherlock growled. “Are you going to come here, as I asked, or do I need to count?”

She tossed another pillow at him, rolling her eyes.

“Clearly, you’re not taking me seriously!” 

Rose watched in horror as he sprang up from the couch. Luckily for her, he didn’t spring at her. Instead, he stalked into the kitchen and began rummaging around. She sat there, feeling on edge, until suddenly he rounded the corner and came back with an incredibly large wooden spoon.

She opened her mouth and said “Wha--?” and that was as far as she got. 

Rose let out an indignant squeak as Sherlock pulled her up by her arm. Once she was up and standing, he started smacking her bottom, hard, with the wooden spoon. “Ow! Ow! Sherlock! OW! SHIT!”

“Watch your language,” Sherlock snapped at her. “Are you coming to understand that I mean business right now, Rosenwyn? That I’m going to hold you accountable for being an absolute idiot?”

“Yessss! Ow! Sherlock STOP!” Rose was squirming to get away.

“Stand still, show me you’ll cooperate, and we’ll get on with our discussion of your behavior,” Sherlock explained.

“This isn’t the discussion?!” she shrieked.

“No, this is to get your attention. Do I have it?”

Rose stamped her foot once, then remained still as instructed, though she continued to yelp.

After another six smacks fell, Sherlock stopped and put the wooden spoon down on the coffee table. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he looked into her eyes. “Are you listening?”

Rose nodded, a hand sneaking behind her to rub her stinging behind.

“Good. Now listen, and listen hard Rosenwyn,” Sherlock continued. “What you did was completely unacceptable. I cannot, in good conscience, let you go on your merry way with no repercussions. What if you had passed out and they’d left you there? What if you’d gotten alcohol poisoning? What if someone tried to take advantage of the fact you were drunk and high? What would you have done then?”

Biting her lip, Rose looked down. 

“No. Eyes on me.” He waited for her to look up again. “I’d like an answer to that question.”

“I don’t know what I would have done,” she admitted. “I didn’t think about all that.”

Sherlock nodded. “Which is precisely the problem, Rose. Though I’m certain you intentionally broke your curfew, am I correct?”

“Yeah.”

She’s sounding younger by the second, Sherlock thought to himself. “I care far too much about you to let you be stupid. I’m not angry because you broke my rules, because I don’t have any. I’m not angry at you for worrying Mycroft. I’m angry that _you_ don’t care enough about yourself to use a bit of common sense before you go off frolicking with your friends. Despite whatever your best efforts might be to the contrary, you. Will. Stay. Safe. And if that means I must follow you around and smack your behind when you don’t stop to think, then I’ll do it. Daily if necessary; though that would quickly become inconvenient,” he admitted.

He could see the tears welling up in her eyes. How does Mycroft do this on a regular basis, Sherlock couldn’t help but wonder.

“So there is a rule now. You will make smart, safe choices, and if you aren’t certain if it’s a smart choice, you will contact me and I’ll let you know, without repercussions. You’re still learning, and I’m your older brother, it’s my job to help you learn. And right now, you’re going to learn how seriously I take your safety, because we’re going to discuss it at length,” Sherlock explained.

“Discuss it?” Rose sounded so hopeful, thinking he meant actual discussion.

“Yes; my hand is going to discuss it with your bottom for a considerable length of time.”

“That’s not the definition of discussion you know,” she said softly, looking down again. “I don’t think I like this turn of events very much.”

“That’s the new definition, my definition. And if you don’t like this, make reasonable choices in the future and I’ll let Mycroft continue to be the mean brother,” he offered. 

She giggled just a bit at that, and then sobered once more. “Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to tell Mycroft on me?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I don’t believe that’s necessary. I’ll let him know the matter has been handled, but you will apologize. He was very worried about you. Every officer in London was looking for you, silly girl. Now, any further questions, or can we get on with things?”

When she said nothing further, Sherlock took a deep breath. “Right,” he said. Taking a seat on the couch he took her by the wrist and pulled her to his side. “Over my knees.” He knew this was the moment of truth. Either she’d do as he said and he would take care of it, or he’d have no choice but to call Mycroft.

Rose, much to his relief, positioned herself across his lap, her ridiculously short skirt riding up in the process. 

“I was serious about this skirt. I’ll find you something else to wear home. Mycroft will never let you leave the house again if he sees you in this,” Sherlock pointed out. He tugged the skirt up and out of the way before pulling her panties down to her knees.

“No! Sherlock, no!”

“Yes, Rosenwyn, yes.” Sherlock ignored the whining noises she made, and the pink splotches left by the wooden spoon, and raised his hand, bringing it down sharply across the center of her bottom. He repeated the smack, and then picked up the pace, smacking her cheeks hard and fast, quickly turning her whole bottom pink.

“Owww! Ow Sherlock, that’s too hard!” Rose protested.

“No, it’s not. I’m being quite fair, I assure you,” Sherlock answered her. “Less talking more thinking. We’re discussing, remember?” His hand continued to pepper her bottom with harsh swats and eventually turned his attention to her sit spots. When he began swatting her there, Rose’s protests went up in volume, which he ignored. As she began squirming, he tightened his arm around her waist to make sure she stayed over his lap.

When her sit spots were the same shade of pinkish-red as her cheeks, Sherlock turned his attention to her upper thighs and did not lessen he strength behind the smacks.

“Owwwwww! Ow Sherlock!” Rose wailed. She burst into tears and put her hand back, trying to make him stop. For a moment he did, but just to catch her hand. He held it gently to the small of her back before continued.

“Disappearing, is _not_ ok,” Sherlock lectured. “And I _will_ spank you for it each and _every_ time you do it _because_ I love you, even when you’re a little idiot.” His hand emphasized particular points of his lecture and Sherlock began upping the strength behind it.

“No being around unsavory characters that are going to give you liquor and expose you to drugs. You think this is bad?” Sherlock asked. Her tears and squirms told him yes, she did think it was. “Trust me, if you end up cited or arrested for this nonsense, this will be a cake walk in comparison.” 

His hand fell faster and faster, harder and harder until finally he had reached the appropriate shade of red, which was very bright and sore looking. By the time he stopped, Rose had gone still over his lap and was sobbing hard. The sound of it made him feel overwhelmed with guilt; even though he was certain he’d made the right choice.

“Alright, it’s all over now Rose,” Sherlock soothed. He released the hand he’d been holding and carefully pulled her panties back up before helping her up from his lap. Without any hesitation, he pulled her onto his lap, right side up this time, and positioned her well spanked bottom between his knees and hugged her tightly.

“Shh,” Sherlock soothed. “I’m sure it hurts, but you’ll live to misbehave another day, I promise.” He kept his tone light, trying to get her to calm down. Words weren’t what she needed though; it was holding her tightly and rocking her a bit while speaking that did the trick. Funny how she hadn’t change much over the years in that regard. Even if it was only a few swats, Rose had been very demanding about post-spanking cuddles.

“You’re a good girl, you know that? You really are. I’ve done far, far worse than this. Maybe that’s why I worry about you so much,” Sherlock admitted quietly. “You’re smart; I know you’ll make better choices.”

Rose pressed her face to his shoulder, sobbing despite his efforts to soothe her. “’m sorry, ‘m sorry,” she repeated through her tears.

“I know you are,” Sherlock soothed. He stroked her hair and cuddled her as close as was possible. “I know you are. It’s all over now. You’re forgiven and we don’t have to talk about this ever again.” Unless she pulled a stunt similar to this; then they _would_ talk about this again. “It’s alright now. I’m here and I’m holding you and rocking you, so it’s alright now darling.”

His efforts to soothe her soon paid off; Rose managed to stop crying, though she made no effort to move.

“You’ve never called me that before,” she murmured.

“I have, you just don’t remember.”

“When?”

Sherlock smiled. “When you were very tiny, and it was just you and me. I read to you a lot. Your eyes lit up when I did and it was fascinating. Never mattered what story I read at all, because I experimented with different books.”

“Of course you did,” Rose giggled.  “Why’d you stop?”

“Because you started to talk, and not just talk, but parrot what people said to you. I didn’t want Mycroft to know I called you that,” Sherlock admitted. “He would have teased me mercilessly about it. I think you parroted me the most, and that got me in trouble one time, so I censored myself from that point onward.”

She frowned. “I got you in trouble?”

He nodded. “A day Mother was feeling quite well she had some friends over for tea. I was playing with you, but you’d wandered off and I was following you. You walked right into the sitting room where Mother and her friends were and promptly said “Shit” a good seven or eight times.”

“Oh my god,” Rose laughed. “That’s terrible, why did I do that?”

“You were two, you had no idea what it meant; you just liked to say things I said. I was just thankful it wasn’t something worse than that,” Sherlock admitted.

“And let me guess. Mycroft bellowed in that awful way of his?”

He nodded. “He did indeed. And things just progressed poorly for me from that point forward. Definitely not a good day.”

“Aw, I’m sorry.” Rose kissed his cheek. “I think Mycroft is going to murder me when I get home.”

“No, I won’t let him. You’ve had your spanking; it’s done with, aside from your apology. Though if he imposes something additionally, for breaking curfew, I can’t interfere with that,” Sherlock explained. “But you won’t get spanked again, promise.”

\--------------------------

“Rosenwyn. So nice of you to bother coming home,” Mycroft grumbled when his siblings arrived. “You do know how to tell time, don’t you? And in case you forget, your mobile has a clock on it, doesn’t it? And why in heaven’s name are you in pajama bottoms when you left here in jeans last night?”

Inwardly Sherlock chuckled. _That_ explained how she managed to get out of the house in that ridiculous bit of fabric trying to pass for a skirt.

Rose sighed heavily. There was something about that tone that made her feel more like six than sixteen. “Yes, I do and yes, it does,” she answered. She began fidgeting as she stood there beside Sherlock, but relaxed when he put an arm around her shoulders.

“They were dirty, I’m having them laundered,” Sherlock explained. “Unfortunately she did not have a change of clothing at my flat, so we made do.”

Mycroft’s eyebrow quirked. “Is that so?” Considering how uncomfortable Rose looked just then, he doubted that was anywhere near the truth.

“We’ve had a discussion this morning, Rose and I. The matter has been settled,” Sherlock stated firmly.

“Oh has it indeed?”

Sherlock nodded. “It was a very lengthy discussion of an uncomfortable nature.”

Both eyebrows went up this time. “Oh do tell brother!”

“Please God, can the floor open up and swallow me right now? Please?” Rose asked.

Both men stopped to look at her.

“Was that out loud?”

They nodded.

“Just continue with your torture,” she directed, waving her hand at them.

“I spanked her; soundly in fact. And now she has something to say, don’t you Rose?” Sherlock prompted.

Rose took a deep breath before looking up at her eldest brother. “I’m very sorry that I worried you. Breaking curfew was inconsiderate and inconvenienced a lot of people for no good reason. Please accept my apologies, Mycroft. Please?”

“Do I want to know what you were doing last night?” Mycroft asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Not really, no,” Rose replied in a tiny voice.

“But you’re uninjured?”

She looked almost offended at the question. “I’m very injured! Sherlock was really mean!”

“I was _not_!” Sherlock shouted.

Mycroft’s stern demeanor cracked and all he could do was shake his head and laugh. 

“You would try the patience of a saint, Rosenwyn,” he said once his laughter was under control. “Come here, please.”

When she hesitated, Sherlock ‘helped’ by pushing her towards Mycroft. Immediately her hands went back to protect her bottom, but rather than swat her, he instead pulled her into a tight hug.

“You’re going to put me in my grave Rose. You can’t do that again. I was really frightened for you,” he whispered in her ear. 

Rose was somewhat surprised by the hug and it took her a moment to put her arms around him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I mean it. You’re not going to… to…” Rose couldn’t quite bring herself to say the word.

“Spank you? No, not if Sherlock took care of that already,” he assured her. “But you _are_ grounded.”

Rose let out a groan that sounded as though it was agony itself. “The trials of my life,” she grumbled.

“Yes, you poor, poor child. It’s just miserable having brothers who give a damn about you, isn’t it?” Mycroft asked in a sarcastic tone.

 “Hate you,” Rose responded with a scowl, not meaning it even a little.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Yes, that’s very nice dear, we love you too.”

We are _so_ dysfunctional, Rose thought. Then again, normal families had to be terribly boring, so perhaps theirs wasn’t so bad after all. 


	2. What is Right is Hard to Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Series 3 episode 3. My version of how Sherlock got clean. I started out to write a short fic and it got long of its own accord. Special guest appearance by a young Greg Lestrade! WARNINGS: brief mentions of drugs; angst; bits of fluff.

Mycroft Holmes loved the German language. It had a wonderful growling quality to it that he found quite amusing, and it hadn’t taken him more than an hour to learn it. What he didn’t like was the German ambassador who was currently sitting in his office, boring him with some supposedly important matter that was nowhere near being important enough to keep him from home at nearly 10p.m.

As he sat there, attempting to seem interested and not respond sarcastically to the annoying man sitting across from him, out of the corner of his eye, Mycroft saw someone waving their hand at him. He briefly looked over to see his new assistant waving at him. It was _so_ hard to find good help these days. Then again, he’d only had her a few days and hadn’t even bothered to figure out her first name yet. Last names were just fine.

Sending a frown in her direction, Mycroft used the remote on his desk to close the curtains over the window, offering an apology for the interruption to the ambassador. His assistant, however, was not to be deterred and began knocking on the door. Mycroft pressed a button on the intercom. “Russell, I’m in a meeting. Please cease and desist.”

The door opened and Mycroft bit back a curse. “Sir, there’s a phone call.”

“I don’t care; can you not see I’m with the ambassador?”

“Sir, I really think you need to take this call,” the assistant responded. “It’s from home.”

If Rose was calling him again because she couldn’t find her favorite pajamas or the shoes she wanted to wear tomorrow, there was going to be one very sorry ten year old in his house when he got home, Mycroft thought. He picked up his phone as Russell transferred the call and opened his mouth to start scolding but couldn’t get a syllable out. It was in fact his sister and she sounded hysterical.

“My! My I don’t know what to do! Sherlock won’t wake up! He fell over and he’s shaking and spitting up. He won’t wake up My!” Rose screamed and sobbed.

“Oh my god,” Mycroft said, unable to censor himself.

“Mycroft! What do I do?!”

“I’m going to call you on my mobile, I’ll call you right back. I’m leaving right this minute and coming home. Just stay there and keep trying to wake him up,” Mycroft instructed. He turned on his mobile and made a silent vow never to turn it off again, then hung up the landline and called Rose back. She was no less upset than she’d been a moment ago.

“Russell, send an ambulance and officers to my home. Call them _now_ ,” Mycroft instructed as he ran through the office. “I’m coming to you as fast as I can Rose. You’re being such a good girl, being so helpful for Sherlock and I. Everything will be alright.” He only hoped that was the case.

The traffic was unbearable, or at least it felt so to Mycroft. Never had a trek across London taken so long, he was quite sure of it, but he kept talking to Rose, promising he was almost there. Suddenly, the line went dead.

\-----------------------

If it was even possible, Rose was more hysterical when the ambulance arrived. She dropped the phone and ran to the door to open it up. The paramedics rushed by her to where Sherlock was lying on the living room floor. They didn’t miss the needle near the chair he’d fallen out of while seizing and directed an officer to collect it as they started chest compressions.

Rose could only stand there, watching it all in horror, until a man stepped in front of her and blocked the view. It was an officer, who knelt down in front of her. “Hi sweetheart,” he said soothingly. “My name is Greg. What’s your name?”

“Rose Holmes. That’s my brother. Is he going to die?”

The little girl looked absolutely terrified and young officer Greg Lestrade’s heart went out to her. “The paramedics are going to take very good care of him, I promise. Is there anyone else at home?”

She shook her head. “My isn’t here yet.”

“Let’s find you some shoes and a jacket then, sweetheart. I’m going to take care of you while they take care of your brother. Can you show me where that’s at? Please? And who is ‘My’?” Greg hoped he could distract her and get her out of the way while they hauled her brother out of the house on a stretcher.

“He’s my other brother, Mycroft. I called him and he said he would come,” Rose whimpered.

He stood up and took her hand, squeezing it gently, letting her lead him down the hallway. “Oh yes, here we are,” he murmured, opening the closet door. Rose wouldn’t let go of his hand and Greg could feel her trembling. With his free hand he pulled out a coat and shoes that could only belong to a little girl and sat her on the floor, helping her get into her shoes.

“I want My, where is he? He said he was coming,” she whimpered.

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon sweetheart. But until he gets here, I’m going to take care of you. Remember? I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you.” He could hear the stretcher on its way out the door.

“How old are you Rose?” Greg asked. His only response was a resurgence of her sobs. Without a second of hesitation, he lifted her up in his arms. “Hold on to me, alright? Let’s go see if ‘My’ is here yet.”

She pressed her face against his neck, wrapped her arms and legs around him as best she could, and let Greg carry her outside. The ambulance doors slammed shut and the paramedics jumped in to head to hospital.

“Want to sit in my car? I’ll let you play with the lights,” he offered, rubbing Rose’s back. Greg could feel her shake her head no. “Alright, should we just sit on the steps then?” This time she nodded in the affirmative.

“You’re a brave girl, you know that? Very, very brave,” Greg praised as he moved to sit on the front steps with her. He moved her to sit on his lap so she could watch for whoever she was waiting for. If someone wasn’t here soon though, he’d have to call children’s services.

Within just a few moments, however, a car pulled into the driveway at a high rate of speed and a man practically leaped out of it.

“MY!” Rose screamed. Getting up from the officer’s lap, she ran for him. Greg watched as the man scooped her up and held her close.

“Shhh, shhh, you’re going to get sick Poppet,” Mycroft soothed. “And that won’t make anything better, will it, if you have an upset stomach. I know you’re scared, but I’m here now.”

“I called and you didn’t answer and I had to call the lady and I think Sherlock is dying, My, we have to help him,” Rose babbled.

“The paramedics are doing that. I’m going to go check on him in a little bit, I’m sure he’ll be just fine,” Mycroft assured her, hoping that would be true. He nodded at the young officer who was standing near the door, but couldn’t take his attention from Rose just yet.

“I need to go to hospital and sit with Sherlock so he isn’t frightened,” Mycroft said after a few moments. “Would you like to go spend the night with Louise?”

“I wanna go with you!”

“Poppet, you can’t.  Please don’t argue with me,” he murmured, his voice quiet but firm. “I need you to do as I say right now, it’s very important Rose. I’m going to put you down, and you need to go inside. Get Teddy and your backpack and some clothes for tomorrow while I call Louise’s mum. I’ll be right here waiting,” Mycroft promised as he put her down. He let out a sigh of relief when Rose ran off to her room to get her things.

“Thank you for staying with her. I’m Mycroft Holmes,” he said, extending his hand to the officer.

“Greg Lestrade. Not a problem at all. She was very brave.”

 “Is it alright if I make a call and then speak with you further?” Mycroft asked. When the officer nodded, he took out his mobile and dialed the home phone of Rose’s best friend.

“Louise’s mummy is on her way to pick you up,” he told Rose when she reappeared. “Do you want to go outside and wait for her?”

“Will you come home, My? Will Sherlock come home? I don’t want to be alone,” Rose whispered.

“I won’t ever leave you, I promise. I’m going to come get you from school tomorrow, would you like that? And we’ll go out and have a treat, just us. Anywhere you’d like,” he offered. “Be my brave girl a bit longer, and wait for Mrs. Gardner so I can talk to the officer.”

Rose turned her attention to the officer and gave him a little wave. “Bye Greg.”

“Bye sweetheart,” Greg replied, giving her a smile.

The two men watched as she went out the front door and sat on the steps waiting for her friend’s mum. As soon as Mycroft finished with the officer, he joined her, pulling her onto his lap.

“Is he going to die too?” Rose whispered. “I don’t want him too.”

“The doctors will take very good care of him,” Mycroft assured her. “Don’t think about things like that, alright? It will only make you more upset.”

“Will you call me later? And tell me he’s okay?”

Mycroft nodded and held her tighter. “Yes, I’ll do that.”

“And you’re sure you’ll come home?” Rose looked up at him, her eyes filled with fear.

It was a heartbreaking look, and Mycroft wished more than anything he could take that away. “Of course,” he assured her. “I promise, Poppet. You won’t be alone; I’ll always be here to take care of you. I promised you that when you were born and that hasn’t changed, nor will it ever.”

\----------------------

Mycroft was still sitting in the hospital when his mobile rang at 8:30am the following morning. He answered it with a tired, “Yes?”

“Mycroft? It’s Eleanor Gardner,” a woman said.

“Is Rose alright?”

There was a brief pause. “Well, yes and no. Yes, she’s well but she won’t go to school. She’s insisting I bring her in to see you and Sherlock.”

“Wailing, weeping and gnashing of teeth, I suppose?”

Eleanor laughed. “Just so! I don’t know what to do; she’s got her heart set on it.”

“Put her on please, I’ll try to talk sense into her,” Mycroft responded with a sigh.

“My! I’m coming in to see you and Sherlock!” Rose exclaimed before he could get a word out.

“No, you are not,” he responded sternly. “You will go to school and I will pick you up and we’ll have a treat. Just like we discussed last night.”

“Mycroft, no! No! If you don’t let Mrs. Gardner bring me in I’ll come in a cab all by myself and then make you pay the cabbie when I get there,” Rose stated with all the vehemence the ten-year-old could muster.

That was all London needed, Mycroft thought; ten-year-old Rosenwyn Holmes loose. Loose and not _safe_. Damn she was such a clever thing; it was quite hard to keep ahead of her sometimes. “Oh no you will not, Rosenwyn Aramantha.  I will spank you _so_ hard you will _never_ sit again for the rest of your life if you get in a taxi and come here by yourself.” There was a brief pause and he smiled, believing he had won.

“After careful consideration, I’ve decided I don’t care,” Rose announced. “Can Mrs. Gardner bring me? I mean it Mycroft, I will come in a cab and I don’t care what you do about it.”

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. As much as he’d like to think it was all bravado on his sister’s part, he knew her well enough to know she’d do just as she threatened, no matter what he threatened in return.

“Put Mrs. Gardner back on the phone you horribly disobedient girl,” Mycroft responded.

“Mycroft is gonna say I can go!” Rose called out in a sing-song voice as she ran to find her friend’s mum, still holding the handset to her ear. “He’s going to tell you that, because he doesn’t want me to take a cab because he’s very afraid I’ll get kidnapped and he’s told me that lots of times, whenever he doesn’t want me to do something that I really want to do.”

By the time Mrs. Gardner got back on the phone, Mycroft was laughing helplessly. “Dear god, what did I ever do to deserve her? She’s _awful_.”

Eleanor laughed, well used to the strange expressions of affection the Holmes family had. “You’re blessed and you know it Mycroft Holmes.”

“Just bring that ridiculous little girl in, if you’d be so kind,” Mycroft requested.

“Of course. I’m always happy to help.  She’s a lovely little thing.”

“Oh, do you really think so? Might I convince you to keep her then? For say… forever?”

The woman laughed again. “We’ll drop Louise at school and come over after,” she promised.

“Hooray! I get to come!” Rose shouted in the background. “I won!”

\---------------------

Mycroft was standing outside Sherlock’s hospital room, arms crossed over his chest, when Rose and Eleanor arrived. “Thank you, Eleanor. I’ll take it from here,” he assured the woman. He watched Eleanor give Rose a hug and kiss before leaving.

“You are a very naughty girl Rosenwyn. Manipulation? Already? You’re ten years old. You do realize that, don’t you?” Mycroft scolded, looking down at her with a stern look.

Rose raised her chin defiantly. “Don’t care. I want to see Sherlock.”

“And I want to smack you but the nurses would surely frown on that,” he replied. “I think a talk about obedience is in order when we get home, don’t you?”

“You’re awful Mycroft, just awful,” Rose pouted.

“I do try, my dear. Now, go in and see Sherlock. Don’t pounce on him though, you’ll hurt him,” Mycroft cautioned.

She nodded before opening the door and sticking her head inside the room. “Sherlock? You awake?”

“There’s my girl,” Sherlock said, giving her a smile. “Come here.”

“I’m going to kiss you all better like Mummy, alright?”

He nodded and waved her over. While she didn’t pounce, Rose got onto his bed just the same and kissed his cheeks.

Sherlock grinned at her. “I feel better already.”

Completely ignoring the medical equipment he was attached to, Rose snuggled up to him and sighed happily when he hugged her close.

“Mycroft said you were very frightened last night,” Sherlock said quietly.

She nodded. “You’re better now right? For real?”

“I am better now,” he assured her. “And I’m very sorry you were frightened. I didn’t mean for that to happen. You were such a brave girl, do you know that? My brave girl. I’m very proud of you, for calling to get me help.”

Rose beamed at him. “Love you, you know,” she said. “You can’t go. We need you, Mycroft and me. Especially me, because you’re so much better at telling stories. Mycroft _never_ does the voices.”

Sherlock laughed. “So you want to keep me around for story time. Is that it? That’s all I’m good for?”

“Pretty much!”

“What did we ever do to deserve you?” Sherlock asked, tugging on one of her braids.

“I don’t know, but I’m lovely and you know it,” Rose told him.

“Says who?” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Me! And I should know. Since I’m the subject.”

“You’re an impossible child Rose, do you realize that?” Mycroft asked, taking a seat.

Rose grinned. “Yep! You tell me at least once a day. I love you too Mycroft!”

“She’s dangerous, that’s what she is. She’d have the world leaders over for tea and solve all the problems before they’d even realize she’d done it,” Sherlock decided.

“I think I’ll book a trip to the moon should Rose become the caretaker of the free world,” Mycroft quipped.

With a grin, Sherlock handed her one of his pillows, which Rose promptly threw at Mycroft. It missed him by a significant margin, but the look of utter irritation on his face sent her into a peal of giggles.

\-----------------------------

 “I’ll be back tomorrow, Sherlock,” Mycroft promised when it was time to leave. The tone of his voice made Sherlock distinctly uncomfortable but he couldn’t put his finger on why.

“I’ll come back too! Promise!” Rose called out.

“Oh no you won’t, young lady. You’re going to school tomorrow and if I find out you leave the school before you’re dismissed, we’re going to take a trip to my office at home and it won’t be a fun trip,” Mycroft warned her.

“Oh _fine_ , I’ll go,” she agreed. “But I’m not happy about it My. Not even one little bit.”

“I can live with that,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Just see to it you don’t get any ridiculous ideas in that head of yours tomorrow to do otherwise. I’ll hire a minder for you at school if you don’t promise you’ll be good and stay there.”

Rose sighed heavily. “Alright My, I promise.”

\---------------------------------

The following morning, after dropping Rose off at school, Mycroft did in fact return to the hospital with a small overnight bag.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock acknowledged when he walked in. “What’s that?”

With an even more solemn look and air then he usually possessed the eldest Holmes crossed the room and placed the bag onto Sherlock’s hospital bed. “I’ve taken the liberty of packing you a few things. You’ll also find a set of keys to a new flat I’ve rented for you, along with the address.”

“You what? Mycroft, what are you on about?”

“I’ve also hired removal men. They packed your belongings from the house and have taken them to your new flat,” Mycroft continued. “Along with some furnishings I purchased on your behalf. When they discharge you today, a car will be waiting for you.”

Sherlock just stared at his brother. Surely he couldn’t be serious. It almost sounded like he was being thrown out of the house!

“I’ve also changed the locks on the house, about an hour ago. Don’t look at me like that Sherlock,” Mycroft said, sounding very tired. “You had to know this was coming. I trusted you, I _needed_ you. Rose needed you. And you were doing cocaine with her in the house. I don’t even want to think about how many other times you’ve likely done that.”

“You can’t throw me out of the house Mycroft. It’s my home too, and she’s my sister too.”

Sherlock looked so stricken, it almost took Mycroft back. “She is,” he replied. “She is your sister too, our sister, who lost her mother ten weeks ago. Ten weeks, Sherlock. I’m certain you have a reason for your behavior, and I’m well aware you aren’t a hardcore addict, but I can’t allow this to happen again. Rose doesn’t have anyone but us Sherlock, and this incident has forced me to do something I never thought I’d have to; choose between you. I have no choice at all but to choose Rose, a little girl in desperate need of some stability in her life.”

“She was asleep, she’d been in bed for an hour,” Sherlock said quietly, struggling to keep his emotions in check. “This is going to hurt her Mycroft. Do you realize it?”

“And children are always known to stay in bed for the entire night once you put them there,” Mycroft responded before pausing to rub his forehead. “It’s quite likely to devastate her, I’m aware. But I have to protect her. So for the time being, you are not welcome at home, nor do you live there any longer, nor will your keys work. I have set you up in a decent flat with everything you could possibly need.” Mycroft’s voice was quiet, but tight, indicating how much this was hurting him.

“There has to be some other option.”

“There isn’t.”

“I’ll go to rehab.”

Mycroft nodded. “Yes, you will. You’ll complete a thirty day program and I won’t allow you to see Rose until that’s finished. And there will be drug tests, when you want to see her, for six months. Provided all that comes back clean, you’ll be welcome back in the house and can see Rose all you’d like without my prior approval or further drug tests. You left me with no choice. You’re _making_ me hurt her Sherlock. I hope you understand that.”

Sherlock’s head was bowed and he was carefully regulating his breathing to avoid crying like a child. “Can I speak with her?” He finally asked. “If I call you first, can I speak with her?” He couldn’t possibly begin to imagine a life without Rose in it for even a day, let alone thirty.

“Yes, I’ll allow that, provided we speak first.” That way Mycroft could be certain Sherlock didn’t sound high when he called.

“I suppose that’s it then? You can leave now. In fact I’d very much like you to leave,” Sherlock decided.

The hurt Mycroft could hear in Sherlock’s voice nearly broke his resolve. “I’m sorry Sherlock, I truly am.”

He nodded before responding in a dull tone, “Tell her I love her and that I’m sorry.”

Mycroft nodded. “I will. Call anytime Sherlock, I mean that. I want to help and support you as best I can. I hope you understand, in time, why I had to do this.” With one last look at Sherlock, he turned and left the hospital room, praying his brother would wait until he was gone to give in to the tears he’d heard in the younger man’s voice.

\------------------------------

It went worse than Mycroft had expected it to. Rose was nearly inconsolable, crying just as hard now as she had when their mother passed. Surely it would be less painful for someone to just remove his heart than have to sit here and try to comfort her, knowing he was the cause of all this distress.

“Make him come back Mycroft! He has to come back!” Rose sobbed. “I want Sherlock, I want him now! I don’t want you! I _hate_ you!”

“Rose, please try to understand. Sherlock is sick and he cannot come home until he’s better,” he responded. It was a lot to ask of a ten year old, to do without the brother she’d hardly spent much time apart from, and Mycroft was aware of it. “Please Rose. I know this is hard,” he added. The amount of emotion creeping into his voice just then was disconcerting, but Mycroft chose not to dwell on it.

“NO you don’t!” She shouted, adding a good kick to his shin. “You never care about anybody! All you care about is work and now you don’t care about Sherlock and I don’t care about _you_ if you don’t care about Sherlock! Nowhere can be better for him than here with us! I hate you Mycroft, I HATE YOU!” Letting out a heavy sob, Rose turned and ran from the sitting room.

Mycroft knew she didn’t mean that at all, and even knew that _she_ knew that, and would recognize that fact later on when she calmed down. That did not, however, mean that her words didn’t hurt and they hurt far more than he’d anticipated. He was torn on what to do: let her run off and give her the space she needed, so long as she remained in the house, or go after her.  After a moment’s deliberation he decided it would be best to allow Rose the space she needed. She’d surely come back so they could make up.

\--------------------------------

Supper was always served at six in the evening, day in and day out at the Holmes household. There was always at least one family member around to eat at that time, so they’d never bothered to tell Cook any differently.  It just so happened that today there were two family members at home; Mycroft and Rose.

Mycroft showed up at precisely six and waited patiently for his sister to arrive. The more time that passed, however, the less patient he became. Surely Rose was hungry by now. She’d not had a snack after school and he hadn’t seen or heard her since she’d run off. When seven came and went, Mycroft began searching the house for her. “If she ran off and left this house, I’ll strangle her when I get my hands on her,” he grumbled, beginning the search in her bedroom.

An hour later he’d checked every possibly place in the house that Rose could be, including the extensive dust-filled attic. Deciding he’d better search the yard and garage before he called the police, Mycroft put on his coat and was about to step outside when he realized he had _not_ in fact searched everywhere in the house. He had not searched Sherlock’s room, despite passing by the closed door multiple times.

Mycroft headed for Sherlock’s bedroom and slowly opened the door, looked inside, and felt his heart sink. If there was anyone in the world who could remind Mycroft he was human and in possession of all the emotions that came with being one, including broken hearts and bursts of sentiment, it was his baby sister. At this moment, she was the exact picture of heartbreak and he could feel tears stinging his eyes.

Rose was wearing one of Sherlock’s button ups, which she must have retrieved from the laundry room, snuggled into his bed, fast asleep. He could tell she had been crying, her face still streaked from her tears. Her Teddy, which she could never sleep without, was nowhere in sight and Rose was hugging one of Sherlock’s pillows instead.  She looked so tiny in Sherlock’s big bed. Granted, Rose _was_ tiny, as far as the proper height and weight standards for her age group went, but she seemed exceptionally little in the bed. Little, alone, and very sad.

He stood in the doorway and leaned his head against the doorframe for a moment. “I’m just trying to do the right thing,” he whispered. What he wouldn’t give just then for their mother to be with them, even if she did call him ‘Mike’ of all things. She would have known precisely what to say and do. If only he could think of what it was she might do for little Rose.

Then it came to him and Mycroft fully entered the room and went quietly to the bed. Slipping his shoes off first, he lay down on the bed and wrapped an arm around Rose. Oh so carefully he pulled her gently towards him until she was snuggled against his chest as he lay on his side. Holding on to her protectively he willed his stomach to stop grumbling about the lack of an evening meal and closed his eyes.

A few hours later, Mycroft awoke as Rose began to stir. He watched the confusion blossom over her face, then the recognition of where she was and why dawn in its place. Her stomach growled loudly and he couldn’t help but smile just a little.

“Hi,” Rose whispered, rolling over to face him.

“Hello dear,” he whispered back.

“Why?”

Mycroft frowned a bit. “Why what? Complete sentences help.”

Rose’s eyes closed almost completely, until she was looking at him just barely through her long, dark eyelashes. “Why are you here? I said I hated you.” Her voice cracked as she spoke.

“Because I love you.” It wasn’t easy for Mycroft to say those words aloud. He was fairly certain he’d never come right out and said them to Sherlock, but he said them to Rose now and again. Or if he was truthful about it, he told her on a fairly regular basis. Yet each time it took him by surprise, hearing those words come out of his mouth so effortlessly. “You looked very sad and lonely in here, but I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Quiet tears began sliding down her cheeks and Rose attempted to roll away from him.

“Oh no,” Mycroft said firmly, pulling her back. “Why?”

“Complete sentences,” she whispered, trying to sound cheeky but failing miserably.

“Why are you crying?”

“Because I was horrible to you. I said I hated you My.”

Mycroft brushed a few tears away with the pad of his thumb. “I know you didn’t mean that Rose. Everything will be alright, I promise. Please don’t cry anymore.”

Rose opened her mouth to respond but was rudely interrupted as her stomach growled very loudly. It made her pause and smile just a bit.

“Sounds like you could use some dinner. I could as well,” Mycroft admitted. “Should we go see what we can find?”

She nodded and got up from the bed and waited for Mycroft to do the same. When he did, Rose threw her arms around him and held on tight.

“Such sentiment,” Mycroft grumbled in response. When Rose looked up at him, however, there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He picked her up and carried her out of Sherlock’s room in search of some dinner.

\------------------------------------

“I feel like a bad parent, letting you eat an entire meal at nearly midnight,” Mycroft admitted as they sat down at the small kitchen table.

“That’s alright, since you’re not my parent. You’re Mycroft. Different rules for big brothers,” Rose pointed out. “And who decides what is or isn’t a bad parent anyway?”

“Authors, apparently. Child experts, psychology professionals, mothers with obscenely large numbers of children. I read all the books.”

“Did they help?” she asked curiously.

Mycroft shook his head. “Not really. Here and there something was a bit helpful or caught my attention to try, but by and large they were a waste of time. _Far_ too much sentiment.”

Rose smiled at him. “So if they didn’t help, why’d you read them in the first place?”

“Can you even begin to imagine the terror that was Sherlock as a child? I was bound and determined that you would be different. That I’d try to make you as normal as I possibly could, given the dysfunction that runs rampant in our family. I wanted you to be normal and happy, I knew Father would be busy and I knew Mother couldn’t take care of you all on her own,” Mycroft explained.

“You drove Mummy crazy didn’t you?”

“Rose, don’t talk when your mouth is full. It’s disgusting. Clearly I’ve failed in teaching you any sort of ladylike manners,” he scolded lightly.

“Being a lady is boring, My,” Rose pointed out, adding a good scowl for emphasis.

“Being a lady will take you places in life Rosenwyn.”

“Yep,” she agreed, making the ‘p’ pop. “ _Boring_ places.”

Mycroft’s eyebrow rose. “Close your mouth and eat properly or I’ll take your plate away.”

Rolling her eyes, Rose chewed and swallowed before asking the question once again.

“Now, clarify your question. Are you asking if I drove Mother crazy as a child or if I drove Mother crazy when you were born?”

Rose scrunched up her nose as she considered the matter. “Both!”

He shook his head, giving her a little bit of a smile. “I will have you know I was a positively delightful child.” Mycroft frowned when Rose responded by laughing long and hard. “And in response to the other question, I was… zealous in my efforts to make things just right for you. But I believe, overall, that Mother appreciated my efforts. Finish supper and then it’s time for one story and bed.”

\------------------------------------

One story turned into two and two stories turned into three until finally Mycroft realized what the issue was: she didn’t want to be alone. Rose had been clingy since their mother had passed, and had spent several nights in Sherlock’s room, when she was feeling particularly vulnerable. Today, it was worse than usual which wasn’t surprising.

“No, My, don’t go! One more story, please!” Rose was dangerously close to tears and gave him a most pitiful and pleading look.

 “Shhh,” Mycroft soothed. He already had her on his lap and easily wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. “It’s alright Poppet. There’s no need for tears.”

“Don’t leave me My, please. I don’t want you to leave me too. I wanna stay with you,” Rose whimpered.

As a general rule, Mycroft didn’t let her sleep in his room. Many of the parenting books he’d read had discouraged that, but he’d always been the only one in the house concerned about setting a bad precedent. ‘What if she never sleeps in her room again?’ he’d often asked their mother. She’d just tutted at him, smiled, and ignored him. Sherlock had followed suit. Rose was a big girl, ten years old, and surely could stay in her own room. Mycroft opened his mouth to tell her so, but things didn’t go as planned.

“Then I suppose, just this once, I’ll let you,” he told her quietly. “I’m not going to leave you Rose; not ever. But if it will make you feel more secure, just this once, I’ll let you sleep in my room.”

Damn his traitorous mouth! Really though, how he could refuse that look of anxiety and vulnerability on her face?

“Get Teddy,” Mycroft instructed, indicating the bear. It was a little one, dressed in a pink sleeper with a white collar that he’d purchased for her the day she was born. Rose never slept without it. When Rose picked up the beloved bear, he stood with her in his arms and crossed the room to shut off the light.

“Under the covers with you,” he instructed when they entered his room. Mycroft set her gently on the bed before heading for a chest of drawers and taking out his own nightclothes. “I’ll be right back.” He left the room briefly to change and returned to find Rose under the covers just as he’d asked.

“Have everything you need?” Mycroft checked as he got into bed. The only answer he received was a murmur and slight nod. “Goodnight Poppet.” He pulled her close, holding her protectively with one arm, and kissed her cheek.

\----------------------------------

The thirty days Sherlock attended a rehab program crawled by excruciatingly slowly for the Holmes family. He missed Rose, she missed him in return, and Mycroft felt terrible for making them both miserable and wished it was easier to do the right thing.

Mycroft thought briefly about hiring a nanny or after school minder for Rose, just until Sherlock completed the program. Eleanor Gardner, and her husband Andrew, wouldn’t hear of it when they got wind of it from Rose and insisted on helping in any way they could. Their little Louise and Rose were such good friends, in school and dance together, and Rose was already like a second child to them. Mycroft accepted their kind offer to keep an eye on her.

Finally, however, the day had come for a much needed reunion. Sherlock’s drug test had come back clean and Mycroft had alerted both Eleanor and the school that Sherlock would be collecting Rose when school let out. Mycroft almost wished that he could be there to see it, even with all the sentiment that was likely to be practically oozing out of the two of them. Unfortunately, the free world didn’t safeguard itself.

\--------------------------

Rose came bounding out of school, hand in hand with Louise, the two little girls chattering and looking for Louise’s mum. As they looked, she spotted Sherlock waiting off to the side, trying to avoid all the running and screaming children.

“SHERLOCK!” she screamed before taking off at a run towards him.

Sherlock turned in the direction of her voice and went down on one knee to catch her as Rose threw herself into his arms and practically strangled him in her enthusiasm to hug him tightly. “There’s my sweet girl,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

“Are you better? Are you coming home? Does Mycroft know you’re here? You can’t ever go away Sherlock, never again!” Rose chattered, continuing to hold on tight.

Sherlock chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “I am better and Mycroft said I could come get you today and bring you home.” He laughed even harder when she squealed happily and kissed his cheeks. “Just a bit happy to see me, hm?”

Sherlock stood up with her in his arms, letting her keep her arms around his neck and wrap her legs around his midsection. “You look reasonably well. Mycroft been taking good care of you? Though if the state of your hair is any indication, I think I ought to be worried. That braid of yours is horribly crooked,” he teased. Rose laughed and the sound of it was certainly the best thing he’d ever heard, Sherlock was sure of it.

“Mycroft can’t braid very well,” she giggled. “He tried, but you do better. Mrs. Gardner was tutting about it this morning but didn’t have time to fix it. I’m never gonna let go of you, ok? Just never.”

“Sounds like a fine plan, since I don’t intend to let go of you either,” he admitted, kissing her cheek. “Want to go home?”

“Can we bake biscuits? Mycroft _never_ bakes biscuits with me.”

“Mycroft’s an awful brother, isn’t he? Just rubbish.” Sherlock gave her a wink and a smile, which grew even wider when she laughed again. “Let’s go home.”

\-------------------------------------

It was just after eleven that night when Mycroft finally made it home, feeling exhausted and a bit worried. He hadn’t heard anything from Rose or Sherlock, so surely everything was alright, but he couldn’t help being worried all the same. He closed the front door quietly behind him and locked it securely before heading towards the stairs to go check on Rose. He stopped, however, as he passed the sitting room.

The telly was on, tuned to the channel that aired old films and a pan of biscuits was sitting on the coffee table. Sherlock was fast asleep, holding his sleeping sister tightly in his arms. Rose’s face was smeared with chocolate chips and Sherlock had flour in his hair. Mycroft could only imagine the state of the kitchen if these two were anything to go by! Shaking his head, he went to the hall closet and retrieved a blanket and covered his siblings with it before going up to bed.


	3. Little Lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Dynamics of Combustion, seen in series 3 episode 3 was written by Mrs. Holmes under the name M. L. Holmes. For my own purposes, I’ve named her Maud, just because I like it.
> 
> Just a short little plot bunny that's been rattling around in my head this past week. Enjoy!

The sound of a wailing infant greeted Mycroft as he entered the house, causing him to sigh as he locked the door behind himself. The sound of the wail grew stronger and it wasn’t long before said infant and her mother appeared in the entry way while he was still divesting his outdoor clothing.

“Myc! It’s so late! Why must they keep you so late?” Maud Holmes inquired with a frown.

“Time zones, Mother,” Mycroft answered. “Just because it’s the middle of the night here doesn’t mean everyone else in the world is sleeping.” He closed the distance between them and squeezed his mother’s shoulder in a brief show of affection. “Mother, you look awful.”

Maud chuckled softly. “Thank you so much dear. That’s just what every woman wants to hear.”

“I wasn’t trying to be insulting,” he said, quirking an eyebrow. “I was making a point. You’re exhausted. Is she alright?” Mycroft finally spared a look for the little bitty girl in their mother’s arms.

“Oh, of course. She’s hungry; I’ve got a bottle warming in the kitchen.”

“Why don’t you let me take her? I can feed her and put her back in the crib,” Mycroft offered. He couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the worried look on her face. “I’m here, Father’s away, you’re exhausted. Surrender the child and go to bed.”

Maud laughed once more. “Surrender the child? And you accuse Sherlock of being dramatic.” All drama aside, she passed the three week old Rosenwyn Holmes to Mycroft and kissed his cheek. “Thank you Myc. Don’t forget to turn the monitor on, hm? And sleep well.”

A smile had spread across Mycroft’s face as he took Rose into his arms. Her crying had instantly ceased and Rose appeared to be studying him intently. “Hello, little lady. How are you this evening?” he murmured, carrying her into the kitchen. “Your bottle is almost ready. I’m going to feed you so Mother can sleep. She is very tired. You’ve been keeping her awake too much.”

Rose continued to watch him with wide, clear eyes of the most beautiful light blue.

“Yes, I’m well aware you cannot help it,” Mycroft assured her. “We’ve been through this before with Sherlock. Speaking of our brother, I have a feeling you’ll end up with a mop of curly hair just like him.” Unlike most babies who were born with a bit of peach fuzz for hair, Rose had made her arrival into the world with a good helping of black hair.

When the bottle finished warming, Mycroft tested the temperature before carrying it and Rose into the nursery where he sat down in the rocking chair. “Just in time,” he murmured when she began to fuss a bit. The bottle instantly quieted her and he gave the tiny baby another smile. He’d noticed lately that he smiled much more around her than he normally did and hoped no one else was aware of that fact.

“Well, you seem to like your nursery quite well and I’m very glad. Mother had _awful_ ideas for it. Cream walls, everything clean and white and full of lace. Dreadful. You’re very lucky I changed her mind,” Mycroft decided.

_Two Months Earlier_

Mycroft sighed heavily. “Mother, this looks more like a hospital than a nursery. I don’t believe that was your intention?”

“Oh Myc,” Maud sighed. “She’s a little girl, lace is completely appropriate you know.”

“It’s not so much the lace I object to, it’s the whole of it. You know, the books I’ve been reading--” He paused, giving his mother a scowl as she started laughing. “As I was saying,” Mycroft continued when she finished. “The books I’ve been reading say that colors and patterns are excellent for stimulating a baby’s mind.”

“What has gotten into you?” Maud inquired, not sounding the least upset. “You were never this way with Sherlock. Why are you so concerned now?”

“Do you really need to ask? We don’t want another Sherlock, now do we?”

She was frowning at him now. “That’s very unkind Mycroft.”

“The truth does hurt.”

“So your goal is to be certain she’s much more like you than Sherlock? You do realize this will be my third child? And that I don’t think there’s anything wrong with Sherlock?”

“Precisely why I need to be concerned. Things went so well with me and then… Well, it’s all been very unfortunate,” Mycroft decided, referencing his brother once more.

“I can’t say I won’t be grateful for your help,” Maud admitted. “With your father away working so often, and Sherlock being the curious child that he is, I’ll need your help.”

“I’m aware of that and, obviously, not opposed to it.”

“When she’s big enough to understand, I’m going to tell her all about this. How much you loved her before she was even born and how excited you were to make things just right,” Maud decided, giving him a smile.

“That, Mother, is _not_ amusing. Don’t you dare tell her any such thing!”

_Present_

“I think it turned out quite well,” Mycroft decided, surveying the nursery. Two walls were painted a cheerful red as an accent, the other two left white. The room had a ladybug theme, hence the red accent walls. “The ladybugs, I’ll have you know, were not my idea. I did not approve, but Mother insisted upon it. I meant a pattern, not oddly disproportionate insects with sickly sweet smiles. But, it wasn’t white and lacy, so I consider it a triumph just the same.”

He was certain Rose was listening to his every word and he could practically see the intelligence in her eyes. She was going to be a smart little thing when she got older and he’d teach her all sorts of things. All the things Father wouldn’t have the time to teach her, regardless of how much he might like to.

When Rose finished the bottle he began burping her, bracing for the potential spit-up and smiling when it didn’t come. “You’re a good girl Rose,” Mycroft praised. “Not that it’s necessarily wrong for a baby to spit-up, I would just prefer you don’t do that to me, especially when I’m in a work suit. And I don’t think you care at all what I’m saying right now, do you?” Her eyelids were growing heavier and Mycroft settled back and began gently rocking her.

“Now, see you’re the sort of baby I like. Sherlock was terrible, truly. Always screaming for attention and when he got it, he’d continue to scream so you’d never put him down. Not much has changed in that regard, to be honest. But you’re a very good girl, aren’t you?” He looked down at her and smiled yet again. 

“You’re much better behaved already and smarter, too. You cry when you need something, precisely as you ought, and then you just watch the world with those pretty eyes when your needs have been met. You’re taking it all in, everything around you, content as can be.”

He gently rubbed a tiny hand with his thumb before leaning down to kiss her forehead. “I want you to know Rosenwyn, and yes, I’m calling you Rosenwyn right now because I wish for you to pay attention.” 

She merely blinked sleepily at him in response.

“I want you to know I’ll always be here for you and love you,” Mycroft whispered, as if they were sharing a secret. “The world is a scary place sometimes, but you don’t need the data on that just now. Only know that I will always take care of you.”

Falling silent, Mycroft continued to rock her until he was certain Rose was sleeping. Then, very carefully, he carried her to the crib and placed her in it. “Goodnight little one,” he whispered. After making certain the baby monitor was turned on, Mycroft left the room and headed to his own, more than ready for some sleep.


	4. The Heart of the British Nation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose paid a visit to Buckingham Palace long before Sherlock and his sheet did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by special request of a dear fan who is feeling icky and wanted some little Rose and Mycroft fluff. Feel better hon!

Mycroft Holmes looked down at his mobile with a frown. It wasn’t that he didn’t recognize the number, because he did. It was the number of Rose’s school. He knew this wasn’t going to be a good call and it couldn’t come at a worse time. He was due to meet with Her Majesty in twenty minutes. In fact, at right that moment, he was in Buckingham Palace.

“Mycroft Holmes,” he answered dully.

“Mr. Holmes, this is Andrea Bishop at--”

“At Rose’s primary school, yes,” Mycroft cut the woman off. “Is she alright?”

“There’s been a bit of a scuffle and she’s been taken to surgery for stitches.”

“ _What?!_ ” Mycroft demanded. “Stitches?”

“Yes, sir. She’ll be alright. But she needs someone to pick her up. She’s back and in the nurse’s office; she’s quite upset.”

Mycroft groaned loudly, drawing attention from staff nearby. He completely ignored them. “That’s not possible right now. Must she be picked up?”

“Yes, sir.”

Of course it would have to be today, right before his meeting, when mother was in Italy and Sherlock was still in his own classes.

“I cannot get away just now. My assistant will pick her up momentarily.” Mycroft promptly hung up on the primary school. He spoke briefly to his assistant, instructing her to go get Rose, take her home and stay with her.

“But sir, what if she won’t go home?”

“She’s four. You cannot handle a four year old, Hubbard?”

“Uh, right. Yes, sir.” She nodded and scurried away.

A door down the hallway opened and Mycroft turned in the direction of the noise. “Mr. Holmes? Her Majesty would like to see you now.”

\------------------------

The tea tray had just arrived when a war started in the hallway. Or at least it sounded like a war. The Queen looked at the door in astonishment as people started shouting and the sounds of sobs could be heard.

“Oh dear god,” Mycroft murmured, closing his eyes. How the hell was he going to explain that his assistant couldn’t handle an upset four year old? Before he could even get up from his chair, the door opened.

The shouting stopped and a tiny girl flew into the room and practically launched herself at Mycroft, who had had enough practice at this to catch her before she fell on the floor.

“Sir, I’m so sorry. I really tried,” Hubbard said quietly. The poor woman looked petrified. Mycroft was glad of that, and gave her a particularly stern look. “Your Majesty, I’m so sorry.”

The little bundle that Mycroft managed to catch attached herself to him, pressing her face against his neck and sobbed as if the very world had come to an end, babbling through her tears. He instinctively began to soothe her. “Shhh, it’s not that bad,” he murmured, rubbing her back. “You must calm down now. _Please_ Rose, you must calm down. I’ll make it better, whatever it is, I promise. Just please stop crying!” He gave the Queen an apologetic look.

“Rose, you’re in Buckingham Palace and the queen is here, you have to stop crying right now,” Mycroft hissed. He was slightly taken aback when the woman in question frowned at him.

“Whatever is the matter, little one?” the Queen asked.

The sound of someone else caused Rose to momentarily pause in her tears and Mycroft seized the opportunity to extricate her arms from around his neck. He turned her around in his lap and watched his little sister’s eyes grow wide. “See? Buckingham Palace and the Queen. She asked you a question, you must answer it,” he said softly. He took his handkerchief out and dried her face.

“Are you really the Queen?” Rose asked. She pushed Mycroft’s hand away when he tried to smooth the abundant black curls down into a bit more orderly fashion.

“I am! You must be Rose,” the older woman responded.

Rose nodded. “Yes. I got hurt at school and I don’t like Hubbard,” she stated as if that explained everything.

“And disliking Hubbard is a sufficient reason to have a wobbler in the hallway of Buckingham Palace?” Mycroft asked, giving her a look.

She pouted and pushed some curls away from her forehead. “I got stitches and it was awful,” she told him, her lower lip trembling.

Sure enough, there were three stitches just above the hairline. “You did get injured, didn’t you?” he said softly, hugging her tightly. “My poor Rose. What happened?”

“Two boys were making fun of me, because I’m little and I told them to shut up, like Sherlock always tells you,” Rose began. “And then one of them pushed me and I fell and hit my head. I just wanted to play too! It wasn’t nice! And it hurt when they put them in and you weren’t _there!_ ”

“I’m very sorry I wasn’t there,” Mycroft said sincerely. “But I really need you to go home with Hubbard. I have to work. I’ll bring home a special treat.”

Rose scowled and said firmly, “No.”

“That’s a familiar look,” the Queen said with a chuckle. “Would you like some tea, my dear? And biscuits?”

“Your Majesty, please don’t feel compelled to indulge her,” Mycroft said quietly. He was completely ignored and Rose slid off his lap and approached the tea tray.

“Milk?”

Rose nodded.

“Sugar?”

“Two please,” she answered.

The Queen fixed Rose’s tea and handed her the cup and saucer, watching as the little girl sat down beside her brother.

Please don’t let her break it, Mycroft thought.

“So you must be the Rose that wrote all over that document a while back in Mycroft’s office,” The Queen said. “With your name. Were you just learning to write?”

“Yes ma’am,” Rose answered. “Mycroft was very angry about that. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s alright. You didn’t get in too much trouble did you? I know it’s very exciting to learn to write letters and your name.”

“I’m not supposed to write on paper that has writing on it. Just plain paper and color books. And not the wall either,” she said dutifully.

The Queen chuckled. “Is Mycroft a good brother? Yes, I do see how uncomfortable you are Mycroft. I’m quite amused presently.”

Rose nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes! He’s wonderful. Sherlock too, ‘course.”

“Of course,” the older woman agreed.                                                  

“He takes good care of me. I hope he goes and yells at those boys because that’s not okay,” Rose added. “Are you going to go shout at them My?”

Mycroft coughed and shifted uncomfortably. “Well… someone will be yelled at, that I can assure you.”

“You should poke them with your brolly,” Rose decided.

“We do not poke people with umbrellas, Rosenwyn,” Mycroft replied sternly.

The little girl gasped. “You do too! You poke Sherlock with it all the time so he’ll leave you alone! I saw it Mycroft. It’s naughty to tell lies.”

His entire face went red and Mycroft had to resist the urge to do more than just poke her with said umbrella.

The queen burst out laughing. “Oh, my dear, you are a delightful little thing!”

Rose beamed. “Thank you ma’am!”

“Her Majesty, Rose,” Mycroft corrected.

“Thank you Her Majesty.”

Her brother rolled his eyes. “You did that purposely. You’re awful.”

“I know. You too.” Rose put her cup down after a few sips and helped herself to Mycroft’s lap.

“Can I take him home now, Majesty? We need to do maths and French.”

“Well, I do need to speak with him,” The Queen admitted. “Just us adults.”

“That’s not any fun. I’m lots more fun.”

Mycroft pinched her arm gently. “Behave,” he murmured.

“Do you have to keep Mycroft for a very long time?”

“Not too long, no. Would you like to have a tour of the kitchens here? I could have someone take you on a tour and when that’s done, Mycroft will be ready for you to take home,” the Queen offered.

“Can I eat lots of biscuits?”

“Why not?” The Queen laughed.

“I could think of a few reasons why,” Mycroft murmured.

Rose looked up at him. “The Queen said, My. And she’s more important than you. She has a crown and everything. So if she says I can have biscuits, we should listen,” Rose told him seriously.

Then she shifted her direction back to the Queen. “Majesty, can we invite Sherlock and then have a party? You have lots of room,” she pointed out.

The woman laughed. “Not today. Perhaps another time. Are you ready for your tour?”

She nodded, and then moved around on Mycroft’s lap so she was sitting on her knees. “Kiss it better,” she whispered. “Like Mummy does.”

It was really unfortunate that he was rather attached to her, because right then Mycroft wanted to strangle her.

“Please, My?”

It was a losing battle and Mycroft knew it. He surrendered and kissed her head near her stitches.

Rose immediately responded by kissing his cheek in return. “I’ll eat some biscuits for you,” she whispered. “Love you.”

“Love you,” he whispered in her ear. Mycroft was certain he began melting when Rose rewarded him with that beautiful smile of hers. “Be a good girl for me. Promise?”

“Promise!” Rose slid off Mycroft’s lap and followed a butler out of the room to take her tour.

“I’m so sorry for all that,” Mycroft said once they’d left. “I told my assistant to bring her home, not here. Clearly I need a new assistant.”

“Don’t be concerned about it Mycroft. I’ve had children of my own, remember? Grandchildren too. She really is a sweet thing, and I don’t blame her for being upset. Don’t think anything of it.” When a fresh cup arrived for Mycroft to have tea, the two began their business.

\--------------------------------

An hour later Rose and Mycroft sat in the back of a black sedan. “Are you mad My? That I came?”

“Well you really shouldn’t bully Hubbard. That was very naughty to tell her you’d run away if she didn’t bring you,” he scolded.

“She was very silly to believe me,” Rose replied.

“That’s an excellent point. She and I will discuss that at length. I really need to add ‘minder’ to the description of the position as my P.A.,” he mused.

“I like her.”

“Hubbard?”

“No! Her Majesty. She’s very nice. They make good biscuits at her house.”

Mycroft gave her a look. “You’re not going to be hungry for the rest of the day, are you?”

She shook her head. “Prolly not. I ate lots and lots of biscuits because she said I could.”

He sighed heavily. “Do _not_ tell Mother when she comes back that that happened. Queen or no queen, she wouldn’t like it if all you ate for supper was sweets.”

“Would you be in trouble?”

“No.”

“Then why can’t we tell her?” She looked genuinely confused.

“Because I said so.” He gently poked her nose with a finger.

She laughed and snuggled as close to him as the seatbelt would allow her to. “I really do want you to poke those boys with your brolly. Why else do you always carry it around for?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “You’re an impossible girl, Rosenwyn Holmes.”

Rose sighed contentedly when he wrapped an arm around her. “Love you too, My.”

 


	5. Much Ado About Mycroft

It was a typical Thursday: the Holmes siblings had conquered the dining room. Seventeen year old Sherlock worked on an experiment and six year old Rose did her homework. The two siblings worked next to one another, though with a few feet between them, just in case. After all, Rose might just die if Sherlock got something icky on her, or so she was fond of telling him. His response was always “Hmm. Go away then,” which translated to “Move three feet away then.”

Homework time always came first after school, that was one of Mycroft’s rules, and Rose never cared too much or even needed such a rule. She was a diligent student, often not challenged enough in school, hence her moving ahead two academic years at the start of school that fall. Homework tantrums didn’t exist, because they were wholly unnecessary. Reminders to do homework were equally unnecessary, especially since it never took her very long to complete her assignments.

Something was distinctly different on this particular Thursday evening. Sherlock had been watching her out of the corner of his eye and she’d spent the last twenty minutes staring at a blank project board. Creative projects were something she generally excelled at, so it was puzzling indeed that she was staring so intently at the board as if willing something to appear.

He watched her discreetly as he continued his own work and wasn’t entirely surprised when things suddenly became very dramatic in the dining room. Rose let out a frustrated yell, picked up the poster board and threw it as hard as she could, watching it land on the floor. Before he could say a word, she was up out of her chair, _stomping_ on it.

“You are clearly displeased Rose. What is wrong?” Sherlock asked, turning his full attention to his little sister. Her face was flushed red and she rewarded his gentle questioning with a dark scowl; the sort of scowl only a Holmes could give. It was so unfortunate she looked so adorable when she scowled in that fashion, because Sherlock had to try very hard not to laugh.

“I don’t want your help Sherlock! Or your comments or anything at all! Just leave me alone!” Rose shouted, her tone full of anger.

An eyebrow quirked as she turned and stomped out of the room. Sherlock heaved a dramatic sigh and got up to follow her.

Rose didn’t fancy being followed and led him on a merry chase through the upstairs and downstairs of the house until finally he tackled her, albeit gently, onto the floor in the sitting room. He promptly began tickling her mercilessly.

“Nooooooo! Sherlock stop!” Rose squealed, squirming around, batting playfully at his hands. “I want to be angry!”

“Well you can’t be,” Sherlock responded evenly. “So I’m just going to tickle you until you can’t possibly manage to be angry any longer, and then you’re going to tell big brother what is bothering you so I can make it better.”

It only took a few moments of very earnest tickling until Rose began to laugh and really wiggle around. Her whole face lit up, the anger dissolving in front of his eyes, leaving behind the giggly silly little thing he proudly called ‘sister.’

“I surrender! Oh my god Sherlock! Stop! Ahhhhhh!”

And just like that, Sherlock stopped and lifted her up from the floor. “Now let’s talk, hm? Yes, I know, you’re going to frown again, but you should really keep that in check. I will tickle you to death if I have to,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

“That would rather defeat the purpose, the death part,” she responded quietly. When he sat on the couch and plopped her into his lap, Rose snuggled close, enjoying the comfort of being held close.

“What’s wrong? You never get stroppy over homework,” Sherlock pointed out. “So something must be dreadfully wrong and I’d like to help. You know how Mycroft gets when you don’t do your homework. Lectures for _hours_.”

She let out a sigh and began playing with one of the buttons on his shirt. “I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.”

“Are you being bullied again? I will kick that nasty boy and his cronies all the way down the street if they’re bothering you again,” Sherlock said vehemently. He was relieved when Rose shook her head, indicating was not the problem. Unfortunately, she didn’t elaborate any further either.

“I cannot read your mind, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear. “At least not _all_ the time. You’ll have to tell me. Mycroft won’t let you stay home unless you’re sick.”

“I have a project due tomorrow and I didn’t do it because I don’t want to do it, because it’s really, really stupid,” Rose blurted out.

That, Sherlock thought, was not the answer he’d expected. “Is it too hard? I can help,” he offered. Again, she shook her head. “Why is it stupid? And what’s that poor presentation board in the dining room got to do with it?”

Rose didn’t respond, and didn’t seem inclined to do so anytime soon.

Gently he took her chin in his hand and lifted her head up so he could look into her eyes. “Rose, I really must insist you tell me. Please don’t make me be stern; you know I don’t like that. I’m the fun brother.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not always.”

“Brat,” he murmured, kissing her forehead. “I’m quite serious though. One last chance to tell me and then I’ll have to do… something. Do something about it and neither of us will like it.” God only knew what that would be, but he could think of something on the fly if he had to.

“I don’t have a Daddy, I have a Mycroft,” Rose whispered.

That… was not what he’d expected; Sherlock had to admit to himself. It was an odd little statement, but clearly it meant something very important to Rose. “If you ever tell anyone I said this, you will _never_ sit again. Understand me? And considering you’re only six, that’s a very, very long time. Think carefully.” His eyes sparkled as he made this empty threat with a straight face.

Rose looked up at him and giggled. “Alright, I promise!”

“I don’t have any idea what you mean sweetheart. You’ve got to explain that to me, please,” Sherlock whispered.

“We’re doing projects, at school, about our families and it’s stupid I think,” Rose began. “Because I don’t have a daddy to talk about.”

“Well… you do have a daddy, or did have a daddy, that you could talk about. But that’s very hard isn’t it, because you don’t remember him,” he surmised. “So why don’t you make your project about Mummy?”

She sighed heavily. “I did Mummy last week.”

“What about me? Aren’t I the greatest brother that ever lived and worthy of my very own project designed by the amazing Rosenwyn Aramantha Holmes?” he asked, his eyes going wide as he deliberately teased her. Rose smiled- success!

“Of course! But it’s not your turn yet,” Rose explained. “But you are very wonderful and the greatest brother ever. Though Mycroft is okay too.”

“Just okay?”

Rose nodded, giggling.

“I feel my very existence has been vindicated, because I am clearly the better brother in this house,” Sherlock decided, tickling her tummy just a bit.

“But Sherlock, that’s the problem! It’s not time for brothers and sisters and pets yet, and we did one parent last week, and I don’t have any more parents. Just Mycroft. I have a Mycroft,” she explained.

Sherlock kissed the top of her head. “We do indeed have a Mycroft, mores the pity. But I suppose he’s ours and people would miss him if we sent him away, so we’d best keep him.”

“I would miss him if we sent him away,” Rose whispered. She wiggled around in his lap, readjusting her position so she could look him in the face. “What am I going to do Sherlock? If I go to school without my project done, I’ll get a bad grade and then Mummy will be sad and Mycroft will scold. But, if I try to stay home and say I’m sick, that’s telling lies, and even if My believes me, I’ll know it’s a lie and it won’t feel good.”

“Oh my darling, you really must get rid of this moral compass of yours,” Sherlock whispered, kissing her cheek. “It will only limit your advancement in this world.”

“Mmhm. But that doesn’t make a project, if I have one or not,” she pointed out.

The solution was very obvious, and had in fact occurred to him immediately upon her explanation of the problem. Sherlock had hoped she would make the connection on her own, but clearly her conflicting emotions over what she believed were her only options was getting in the way.

“I really think there’s only one good solution here. It will keep you out of trouble with everyone and give you a project to talk about tomorrow. You will have to do it on Mycroft,” Sherlock announced.

“But he’s--”

“Not your Daddy, I’m aware. You had a very wonderful Daddy, who loved you very much and missed you when he wasn’t here,” Sherlock told her truthfully. “But he didn’t teach you how to read, did he?”

“No. Mycroft did,” Rose admitted.

“And how to make letters and write your name?”

“My did.”

“And who checks for monsters under your bed after loudly refusing to do anything so very silly?” Sherlock asked.

Rose smiled brightly. “My does! But it’s a secret; we don’t talk about it to anyone. Shhh,” she cautioned, putting a finger to her lips. “He made me promise. You have to promise now too.”

Sherlock nodded. “That is very much a secret and I won’t say a word, promise.”

“I’ll do my project on My, and it will be just as good as everyone else’s,” Rose decided with a determined look.

“That’s my smart girl,” Sherlock praised. “Should we go look at the one you made for Mummy and get some ideas for your new one?”

“Yes! It’s in my room.”

Sherlock stood with her in his arms and carried her upstairs. “Do you ever gain any weight? You weigh nothing at all. Too much dancing,” he teased. “Look, I can throw you in the air and you’ll go so high!” He promptly stopped and tossed her into the air, easily catching her as she came down, grinning at her squeal of delight.

“There’s never too much dancing. The world would be so much happier if everybody danced,” Rose told him. “Someday, when I’m a big, I’m going to write a very intelligent paper about it that lots of important and intelligent people will read.”

“And what will you call it? Surely such an important work has a title already.” Sherlock loved the way Rose’s mind worked; it was so different from the way his did at times, and yet she was so very bright, her intelligence unhampered by her sentiments. He never ceased to be impressed with her ideas. She’d make the world a much better place if even 1/16th of them were realized.

“It does,” Rose confirmed. “The Waltz That Will Save the World. That’s what I’ll call it and it will be very, very smart. And people will say “We would like to speak with that girl, Rose Holmes, because she has an utterly brilliant but mad plan. So mad it just might work!” And of course it will!”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Sherlock assured her. He paused outside her bedroom door and looked into her eyes, mere inches from his own. “You can do anything you want to do, Rosie. You’re smart enough and good enough, and never let anyone say otherwise. Promise?”

She nodded, looking as solemn as a six year old could possibly look. “Promise.” Rose leaned forward just a bit, until the tips of their noses touched. “Eskimo kisses,” she whispered.

Sherlock promptly feigned dropping her onto the floor, catching her at the last minute to let her land on her feet while she squealed in delight. “That, young lady, is completely unacceptable. There are no kisses allowed, most especially _those_ kinds of kisses.”

Rose stuck her tongue out at him and then proceeded to giggle as he playfully swatted her bum.

“You’re an awful brat, but you’re my favorite brat in the whole wide world,” Sherlock said, giving her a smile.

“You’re my favorite too. My very favorite Sherlock in the whole wide world,” Rose promised.

\--------------------------------------

“Well, what do you think?” Sherlock asked, peering at her completed project.

Rose smiled as he wrapped his arms around her. “We did a very nice job. I’m proud of us,” she decided. The poster board had recovered from being stomped on and now featured an array of photographs, a few mementos, and lots of writing about each item in bright blue ink.

“My likes blue, right?” she asked, looking up at Sherlock.

“It’s not pink so that’s immediately a point in your favor,” he teased. “I think he’ll like the blue just fine. You made a very smart choice to avoid the glitter.”

“I’m not going to show it to My tonight. I’m going to wait and show it to him tomorrow I think, as a surprise. He likes nice surprises.” She wiggled out of his arms and turned to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Thanks for helping me Sherlock,” Rose said sincerely before kissing his cheek.

“All part of the job,” Sherlock murmured. His phone chirped and Sherlock opened it to read the text. “Apparently our big brother has been chained to his desk for this evening. You know what this means, don’t you?”

Rose grinned brightly. “Ice cream for supper!”

“Ice cream for supper,” he confirmed, returning her smile. “Let’s see what we have in the freezer.”

“You do that; I’ll look in the pantry for fixings! Hooray, ice cream for supper! My very favorite supper in the world!” Rose scurried off to the pantry to search for toppings.

\-------------------------------------------

“The joy of sincere work and worthy aspiration and congenial friendship were to be hers; nothing could rob her of her birthright of fancy or her ideal world of dreams. And there was always the bend in the road! God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world, whispered Anne softly.” Sherlock closed the book and looked down at his sleepy sister with a smile.

“That was a lovely book,” Rose murmured, her eyes heavy. “We’ll have to get the next one straight away.”

“We will, but not tonight,” Sherlock responded. “Now it’s time to get you tucked into bed.” He got up from the bed and watched her burrow under the covers before tucking them in tightly around her.

Rose reached for her teddy and held it close. “Good night Sherlock. I love you.”

He leaned down and brushed curls away from her forehead before giving her a kiss. “Good night Rose.”

\---------------------------------------------------

The following day Rose was more than ready for presentations to begin at school. They weren’t scheduled until after lunch and she just barely made it until it was time to begin!

“It’s time for the presentations everyone,” Mrs. Parsons announced. “Do we have any volunteers to go first?”

Rose’s hand was up before her teacher had even finished the sentence!

“Rose has volunteered, come on up with your project,” Mrs. Parsons encouraged.

Beaming brightly, Rose retrieved her poster board and carried up to the front of the room to place on the easel. “I know we’ve got a special order we’re doing these presentations in,” she began. “Parents or guardians and then siblings and pets next. So today, I was supposed to talk about my daddy, since I talked about my Mummy last week. Only… I don’t have a daddy.”

Mrs. Parsons frowned a bit, feeling confused.

“My daddy died when I was only two and I really don’t remember him at all,” Rose explained. “But I do have a Mycroft, my oldest brother and he does lots of important things with me and he’s the closest thing I have to a daddy. So I’m going to tell you about him today.”

\-----------------------------------------------

Mycroft Holmes looked up from the endless pile of paperwork he had to sort out when his intercom buzzed.

“Sir, there’s a call from Rose’s teacher for you,” his PA said.

He let out a groan. “Put it through.” There was a pause while the call was transferred. “Mycroft Holmes,” he answered.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes, this is Georgina Parsons, Rose’s teacher,” the woman at the other end said.

“And what in god’s name has she done this time and do I need to come retrieve her?” he asked.

There was a bit of a pause. “No, no, nothing like that,” Georgina assured him. “I wanted to speak with you just briefly about the project she turned in today. We, meaning myself and the school, were unaware of her unique situation--”

“And what does that mean?” Mycroft was getting impatient but tried to keep it out of his tone as much as possible.

“That you’re her eldest brother and not her father.”

That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear t all! “Oh. Yes, that is in fact the case. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well we’ve been doing projects on our family, to practice speaking in front of people and Rose presented on you today. I was really just calling to say that we are now alerted that you aren’t her father, and to let you know she did a really outstanding job. You should be very proud of her, it was the best presentation of the day,” Georgina told him.

Mycroft was frowning, but naturally she couldn’t see that over the phone. He’d had no idea Rose was giving family presentations, let alone that one was about _him_. “I appreciate your call, Mrs. Parsons. It’s always refreshing to hear about Rose’s excellent behavior and achievements.”

“You’re very welcome. Have a lovely weekend Mr. Holmes. Goodbye.”

Mycroft pressed the button on his intercom. “Do I have any appointments booked for the remainder of the day?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I’m taking this mess home to work on. You know how to reach me if anything should arise.”

“Very good sir.”

\------------------------------------------------

Rose looked up when a knock sounded on her open bedroom door. “Hi My,” she greeted. “Homework’s almost done, promise!”

He gave her a bit of a smile. “I’m sure it is. Come sit with me a minute.” Mycroft moved across the room and sat on her bed, waiting for her to join him. “I had a call from Mrs. Parsons today,” he began.

Rose took a deep breath. “I don’t know why, I was very good today,” she said, giving him a pout.

“It wasn’t regarding anything of that nature,” he admitted. “She called to tell me about a project you’ve been working on and presented today and I had no idea what she was talking about. However, she said you did a wonderful job.”

She beamed brightly. “Did you want to see it?” When he nodded, Rose bounded back downstairs and retrieved the poster board from the sitting room and brought it upstairs. She propped it on the bed, leaning against the wall for him to look at.

It was littered with photographs and detailed captions and he looked at each in turn. The photo of them on her first birthday- that had been a particularly uncomfortable moment, when she’d called him ‘dada’ while their father was standing right there. Leave it to mother to have that exact moment captured for all eternity. In another, they were in the backyard and he was holding her hands as she tried to walk. Her very first day at school, clutching the teddy bear he’d given her tightly in one hand, while he held the other. Sherlock had taken that one, and Mycroft looked far more anxious than their mother did.

Each photograph evoked a specific memory, making him smile as he remembered them all. The birthday card from the Queen made him chuckle, as did her caption. _I was at Buckingham Palace with Mycroft when he visited the Queen. I was four and she made me tea and every year I get a birthday card from her._

Mycroft took his time looking at every single detail, feeling an overwhelming sense of sentiment at it all. God how he hated when that happened, and Rose was always so good at making it happen!

“Do you like it?” Rose asked softly after a few moments of quiet had passed.

“I do,” he assured her. “Very much.” Mycroft reached out a hand and took her’s, pulling her closer to him so he could wrap an arm around her. “I’m very impressed and very… touched, my dear. More than I can say, in fact.”

“I was really proud to tell everyone about you today. Though I sort of let them think you’re a bit like James Bond, because that’s cooler than the fact that you pretty much have a whole bunch of James Bond’s working for you. Everyone likes Bond better than they do M,” she explained.

Mycroft could only stare at her for a moment before he hugged her tight and laughed long and hard. “Oh my dear, you are…” he tried to find the right word amid his laughter.

“Lovely? Wonderful? Amazing?” Rose offered, giving him a big smile.

He waited until he got his laughter under control before finishing his thought. “My dear, you are undoubtedly the highlight of my every day,” he whispered. “But if you tell anyone I said that, I will deny it to my last breath.”

Rose hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek. “Your secret’s safe with me,” she promised.


	6. A Study in Pink Crayon

There were moments of raising Rose that Mycroft enjoyed immensely. How excited she looked when he came home, running over to him in that odd half-bounce half-run of hers and demanding he pick her up was one of them. It really was a lovely way to end what were often days filled with boring and tedious responsibilities, and occasionally saving the world from the idiots in charge of its various other portions.

But there were other moments too. Moments when she came for kisses before going to bed; she demanded those, too. At times Mycroft wondered if she had any other tonal qualities at all to her voice. When he could tuck her into bed were lovely moments as well; reading her stories, listening to her reactions to them as he cuddled her close. She always fought so valiantly to stay up for just one more story, but never managed it. Mycroft would kiss the top of her head, tuck the covers in tightly around her, and tell her to sleep well.

Kissing the boo-boos better and seeing her eyes shine brilliantly as she learned new things counted too. There were in fact far too many lovely moments involved in parenting for Mycroft to name. Additionally he would never, ever admit to having any such moments, not even if his life depended on it.

But with all the sweet, fulfilling, and wonderful moments there were less pleasant moments too, such as the one happening this very second. At just that moment, Mycroft was standing in the doorway of his study, his mouth agape as his baby sister wrote on the wall in crayon. Had it not been the wall he would have praised her for spelling her name correctly; they’d been working on that. But this was the wall, and not just any wall, his wall. The wall of his inner sanctum in this house of madness known as the Holmes residence. And that ridiculously adorable little monster was drawing on it! This meant he’d have to be stern with her, which would be a decidedly unhappy moment in the saga that was raising his sister.

_Thirty Minutes Prior_

“Mmm, yes, that’s precisely how you do it poppet,” Mycroft encouraged the little girl sitting on his lap. “Yes, that’s the R and then comes?”

“O,” Rose answered, carefully making the letters. She grasped the pink crayon in her right hand, concentrating hard.

Already a perfectionist, Mycroft couldn’t help but think. “No, that one’s backwards. The S goes like this.” He took the crayon and drew an S, facing the proper direction, on the sheet of paper. “See?”

She nodded and crossed out the first S to write the proper one. “Then E like elephant,” she told him as she make the final letter of her name.

“Very good! Such a smart girl,” Mycroft praised, giving her a smile. “While most little children are running around stupidly and trying to eat sand, you, Rose Holmes, are learning to read and write at just three years old. I’m very proud of you.” And he was too! They’d been working together all week, ever since Rose had barged into his study- he really had to remember to shut the door fully- with a book and said “I wanna read the words in my book.”

Rose preened under his praise, giving him an adorable grin. “I write your name too,” she told him, beginning to make the letters M and Y.

“What about the rest of it?” he asked, chuckling.

“Not ‘portant. My is your name,” Rose told him.

“Good god, you already talk with a tone that says ‘Isn’t that obvious?’ We’re in trouble,” he murmured. “Yes, that is in fact my name. Or what you call me at any rate, and that’s what matters.”

A familiar voice began calling his other name, however, the one only his mother called him and he never forgot to remind her that he hated it when she did so. “Mikey! Mikey I need your help a minute; can you come into the sitting room?”

Mycroft sighed while Rose scowled. “This is writing time.”

“It is, but that’s Mummy,” he told her. “We’ll work on this more later.” When she let out a little whine of protest, Mycroft merely kissed her forehead and stood up, carrying her from the room. Shutting the door behind him he placed Rose on her feet. “Go find Sherlock and play with him, hm? I’ll come find you soon poppet.”

Without waiting for a response, Mycroft headed for the sitting room, leaving his precocious sister in the hallway. With the door to his study not fully closed.

Rose was a Holmes, just like her brothers, and very few things escaped her notice, even if she was just three, and she saw the door wasn’t fully closed. When Mycroft walked away, she pushed the door open and entered his office.

It took some effort but Rose climbed up into Mycroft’s big desk chair and stood in it while she continued to write. She wrote her name and My’s again, then Mummy’s. She wrote Cat and Dog too but by then her paper was all filled up.

Rose tossed the paper onto the floor and was delighted to find more paper underneath it. This was fancy paper and her finger traced the seal on it. Paper, however, was paper, no matter how fancy, and she wrote her name all over that one too. And the next seven pieces of paper she could find, each of them ending up on the floor when she was done. Rose moved on from writing names and letters to drawing pictures. Suns with smiles and big trees and flowers like Mummy had in the garden and even her brothers.

The lack of anymore paper, however, presented Rose with a problem. She stood there in the chair and frowned in that way only a Holmes could manage. Suddenly, her solution was right before her! One of the chairs that usually sat near the bookshelf in the office was missing, having recently been taken for repair, leaving a big open space on the floor--- and on the wall.

Rose sat in the chair and then slid down to the floor, heading straight for the wall and proceeded to draw all over it in vividly pink crayon.

_Present_

“Rosenwyn Holmes!” Mycroft said loudly. He watched in satisfaction as the little girl jumped a mile and turned to look at him with wide eyes. Moving further into the room it was then Mycroft saw the papers on the floor. He stopped to pick them up and let out a massive groan when he caught sight of one of them.

“Rosenwyn, the Queen signed this document! The Queen of England and you wrote all over it!” Mycroft shouted. Immediately following his outburst, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Shouting wouldn’t help matters and he doubted very much the fact that the queen had signed this particular paper meant anything at all to her.

After taking a few more deep breaths, Mycroft opened his eyes and deposited the papers on his desk before turning to face his sister, who was watching him with wide eyes. That wasn’t very surprising, considering he’d never shouted at _her_ before.

“Come here, Rose,” he said sternly. Mycroft waited for a moment and when he saw she wasn’t moving, he wavered a bit. Had he frightened her? Gentling his voice considerably he tried again. “Rose, come here to me please.”

“No!” Rose shouted back at him. “You’re mad!”

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I am mad, because you’ve been naughty and that’s unacceptable. We have rules about my study and you’ve broken them. Come here so we can talk about what you did wrong and how you’ll make it better.”

Her face growing red, Rose hurled the crayon at him and screamed “NO!”

“You come here _now_ Rose. I’m counting to three and if you don’t come over here by the time I say three, you’re going to be in very, very big trouble,” Mycroft sternly warned her. “One…”

“NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!” Rose chanted, stomping her feet.

An eyebrow quirked. “Two.” Mere seconds after saying the word, Rose threw herself on the floor and continued screaming.

Mycroft took a deep breath. “And that is most definitely three.” He crossed the room, knelt down, and lifted the screaming and flailing monster off the floor to deliver a very light smack to her behind. Mycroft opened his mouth intending to tell her there were more smacks coming if she didn’t stop her tantrum, but such words were no longer necessary. Rose had gone completely still and quiet, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Are you finished?” he asked sternly.

She nodded her head, her black curls bobbing as she did so.

“No more tantrums, I won’t have it. In fact, you’re having a time out in the corner right now, not only because you drew on the wall, but because you had a tantrum. You’re not a baby Rose, you speak very well and you must use your words and not throw fits because you don’t like what I have to say.”

Rose immediately started to cry, her little fists grabbing his shirt as she pressed her face against him.

“Of course you cry now,” Mycroft muttered. It was so pitiful sounding that he began questioning if a time out was even necessary, before realizing that if he did that, then they’d go through this shrieking nonsense again the next time.

“Rose, really, you aren’t going to die, it’s just a time out,” he grumbled while hugging her tightly for a moment. “You were very naughty and you deserve this time out. Let’s get this done with.” Mycroft stood up with her in his arms and retrieved a footstool, pushing it into the corner. He promptly sat Rose on it and let go of her, cringing as she began crying even harder now.

“You stay here until I come get you,” Mycroft instructed her. “Be a good girl and sit right there.” He waited several seconds to see if she’d get up. When it appeared she wouldn’t, he crossed the room and sat down in his desk chair.

The next three minutes were the longest of his life, Mycroft was sure of it. Rose cried as if she was being tortured and he felt like a first class arse for being the one to make her cry. The guilt was overwhelming and he had to talk himself out of ending her time out early twice within those three minutes. She really wouldn’t learn anything at all if he gave in.

Those three painful minutes did in fact end much to his relief and Mycroft went to release his woeful prisoner. Immediately he picked her up and cuddled her close. Rose pressed her face against his shoulder, one little arm going around his neck, one hand clutching his shirt sleeve.

Just when he thought he couldn’t feel any worse!

“Shh, it’s alright Rose. There’s no need to cry anymore. I’m not mad at you any longer. You were a very, very brave girl for your time out. I know that was hard,” he soothed, swaying a bit as he stood there with her in his arms. “Calm down for Mycroft, please? I want to talk with you, but you can’t hear me if you’re crying.” He rubbed her back with one hand, shushing her soothingly for a couple minutes until she quieted.

“Much better,” he murmured, kissing her head. He carried her over to his desk chair and sat down, still holding her close.

“Sorry,” Rose whispered.

Mycroft gently tipped her head up so they could look at one another. “What are you sorry for poppet?”

“I shouted and threw my crayon at you and I stomped,” she whispered.

Halfway there! “Yes you did and those aren’t very nice things to do, are they?”

She dutifully shook her head no.

“Are you going to do that again?”

Another head shake, but Mycroft didn’t buy it for even a second. There’d be plenty more tantrums in the future and he well knew it, but he didn’t say so. Instead he said, “Thank you for apologizing. I forgive you. But that’s not the only problem we have, is it?”

Rose snuggled up against his chest even tighter and began playing with one of the buttons on his waistcoat. “No,” she said softly. “I colored on the wall.”

“There are rules when you play in here that we’ve talked about before,” Mycroft began. “You can only play in here when I’m here. Was I in here?”

She pouted just a bit and shook her head. “No.”

“And where do we use color crayons? Do you remember that? I know we’ve talked about it,” he reminded her gently. “Are you supposed to color on the wall?”

“No, just paper.” Mycroft would have sworn she let out a sigh as she said it.

“That’s right. We color on plain paper- that means paper with nothing on it- and in color books. Not on the walls, the floor, other people, or anywhere else. Do you understand those rules, Rose?”

A nod in the affirmative followed by a meek, “I’m sorry.”

“Are you going to do it again?”

“No, My, I promise.”

“Good girl,” Mycroft praised, hugging her tightly. “You’re all forgiven poppet.”

“Love you,” she whispered, continuing to play with his button.

If it was possible for human beings to melt from emotion, Mycroft knew he would have done it just then. After tantrums, a little swat to the bum, a very traumatic time out and a reminder of the rules, she still loved him.

“I love you too,” Mycroft replied, whispering the words in her ear, since they were meant for her and her alone. “I need to do some work now, so you’ll have to run along and play Rose.”

She let out a little whine and clung possessively to his waistcoat.

“Well, I suppose a few more minutes won’t hurt anyone,” he muttered to himself. This was the beginning of a slippery slope, Mycroft thought. Too much emotional entanglement, but it was really too late to do anything about it now. Three years too late to be precise.

After another five minutes of cuddles, Mycroft finally managed to convince Rose to go play and watched with a sigh of relief as she ran off to go plague Sherlock. Now it was time to make a phone call, one that wouldn’t be particularly fun.

He got up to firmly close the door before picking up his phone and dialing a number very few people in the country had.

“Yes, this is Mycroft Holmes,” he began when someone on the other end answered. “That document I retrieved about four hours ago has met with misfortune and I’ll regrettably need another copy… Yes, the one Her Majesty signed, please do give her my apologies… What happened? The baby wrote on it… No _of course_ not my baby!” he shouted. “Do I really strike you as someone who would have a baby? It was my baby sister... Are you able to get the document redone and signed or do I need to speak with Her Majesty myself?... Very good. I’ll be there in thirty minutes to pick it up. If you value your job it will be ready when I arrive.”

When Mycroft arrived at Buckingham Palace precisely twenty-seven minutes later, the document was waiting for him as requested.


	7. Caring is Not an Advantage

She’d been planning this for six months. How she’d managed to keep it from her brothers, Rose really had no idea. Though she saw less of Sherlock these days, and Mycroft for that matter, and when she saw My it generally went the way of shouting. But it was time and she was well prepared: two fake passports in addition to her real one, enough clothing for a week, and enough funds to keep her going for four months, if it took her that long to find a job. Where would she go? Anywhere but here would do. And anywhere or anyway that kept she and Mycroft apart. Whether or not Mycroft knew it, Rose knew they needed their space desperately if this wasn’t going to end in some sort of emotional bloodbath a permanent familial split.

Rose had messed things up, and she knew it. When Sherlock had finally moved out, she’d pushed every button she knew to get him back. There was something so empty about the house when he wasn’t around. It didn’t feel the same and she almost couldn’t describe it. But she’d pushed Mycroft too far in her attempts to make Sherlock decide to move back in and something had broken between them. Trust, communication, affection, it had all slowly drifted away more and more.

Rose wasn’t sure. They hadn’t talked like they used to in a really long time, so the truth of it all never really came out and no matter what she’d done, things hadn’t been repaired. Had she done the wrong things in order to repair their relationship? Perhaps. Rose really didn’t know. They didn’t talk much at all anymore. Mycroft worked late and was irritable and impatient, or so it seemed to her. So she’d closed up a bit, and slowly more and more, because if she didn’t expect anything, it didn’t hurt when she didn’t get it. She knew he still loved her on some level. He always would, but… it was different.

Things could have really and truly been solved had the two Holmes siblings, who really did love one another deeply, had bothered to open up and really speak honestly. But that wasn’t Mycroft’s way, never had been, and Rose couldn’t pour her heart out to him if she wasn’t certain how he’d respond.

With her bags packed, Rose took one last look at her bedroom, knowing she wouldn’t see it again for several months at least. With enough clothing for a week, and her money and passports safely hidden among that clothing, and two books to tide her over, she was ready. Taking a deep breath, Rose placed the letter she’d written to her brother on the end of her bed. It was cliché, she knew it, but he’d find it there and that was the important part.

There was one thing she hadn’t packed that, at the very last minute, Rose decided she just couldn’t leave behind. Without a second’s hesitation, she picked up her Teddy; Mycroft had given it to her the day she was born. When she was little, she’d never slept without it. Sometimes, she still slept with it, when she didn’t feel well or had nightmares. She couldn’t leave Teddy behind and quickly stuffed the animal into her bag and hurried out of the house and into her cab.

\---------------------------------------------

It was just after 1am and Mycroft was finally home. The house was dark and quiet and he had every intention of going straight to bed. First and foremost, however, he wanted to peek in on Rose and make sure she was home and asleep. He hadn’t received any texts from her saying she’d be elsewhere, but it was hard to know with Rose anymore. She had seemed so unhappy lately and he was certain it was because he’d forced her to attend law school. Rose desperately needed some direction in her life, and profession, and law school would give her both. Despite all the tears, he’d been quite certain he was making the right decision.

Mycroft crept quietly up the stairs and stopped when he reached the first door on the right at the top of the landing, he pushed it open carefully. Rose was not in her room and he heaved a huge sigh. God only knew what she was up to.

He flipped on the light and entered the room. The room itself gave him pause; first, because he immediately saw items were missing, namely Teddy which always sat on her pillows, and secondly because Rose’s phone was sitting at the foot of the bed beside an envelope.

Mycroft was certain his heart stopped for a moment before he went to her bed and picked up the envelope, removing the letter.

_Dear Mycroft,_

_If you’ve found this, you must already know I’m gone. You’re probably very angry with me, as usual._

_We’re not the same anymore and we haven’t been for a really long time. I’m sure it’s my fault; I’m very good at making a mess out of things as you so often remind me. I know I’m spoiled and disobedient and a horrible brat. I know you meant those things when you said them, each time you said them. They weren’t meant as our Holmesian form of “I love you.” I know I probably deserved them; no, I know I deserved them._

_I’m not entirely certain what I did specifically, or when I did it, to make you so unhappy with me. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, a lot of things I never should have done. I’ve given you plenty of reasons to be disappointed in me, I won’t deny it. But I wanted to change. I wanted to make things right between us because this hurts. Sometimes, I think I’ve made you hate me._

_Over the last year I’ve tried so hard to do exactly what you asked me to do and try to become the person you wanted me to be, even when it made me desperately unhappy. But nothing has changed. If anything, we’re even more unhappy then we were before. You don’t trust me, and haven’t in some time. You don’t believe I ever make good decisions and need to be watched 24/7 like some sort of ticking bomb. And to be honest, I’m sure I’ve given you plenty of good reasons to think so._

_But no matter what I’ve done, I never meant to push you away Mycroft. Ever._

_But I can’t live like this anymore. You have me followed and your people don’t even try to act like they aren’t doing it. You’ve spoken to my friends and intimidated the ones you didn’t like. You search my room on a regular basis even though I don’t keep anything in there I shouldn’t. I try to talk to you about this stuff, try to talk to you at all, and you don’t even hear me._

_We can’t do this anymore. Maybe it doesn’t hurt you, but it hurts me. I don’t want us to be this way. We need space. Or at least I need space, to think about things, to reevaluate my life, and I need to do it all on my own. That’s why I left and why you’re reading this. I need to live and breathe and sort myself out. When I’m done doing that, I’ll come back. I’m hoping that if I figure who I really am and what I want and think about all the choices I’ve made, that I’ll be a better person and you’ll forgive me for all the things I did. Then we can start over and you can trust me again and we’ll respect each other and love each other again the way we used to when I was little._

_Please, please don’t look for me Mycroft. Don’t try to find me and bring me home. This is my one chance to grow up on my own terms and change. I have to change, My. If neither of us do, we really will end up hating each other. So please respect this request and let me make my way for a while on my own, without interference. I’ll reach out if I need you, but I’ve got a plan and I think I’ll be okay. I promise I’ll come home, but not until I’m ready._

_Tell Sherlock I’m sorry and that I love him very much and that he shouldn’t look for me either._

_I promise, I’ll come home someday. I just don’t know when that someday will be right now. Even if everything I’ve done in the past few years says differently, I really do love you My. And I know, deep down, you still love me too. So don’t stop, please._

_Goodbye,_

_Rose_

It was as if his legs wouldn’t hold him up any longer by the time he’d finished reading and Mycroft sank haphazardly onto her bed. “What have I done?” he whispered, staring at the letter. Things had been bad, and had been for a while, even he knew that. What he hadn’t known was that he’d made her feel isolated and… unredeemable. Had he really held on to all that anger at some of the completely mad things she’d pulled over the last couple years and let it build a wall between them? Mycroft hadn’t thought so, but now he wasn’t so sure.

He wasn’t sure of anything at all, with a few small exceptions. He knew he loved her and he knew he had to find her, no matter how much she thought she didn’t want him to. This couldn’t go on even a moment longer. How, _how_ had things gone so badly?

His little sister, his Rose, that he’d raised and loved since the moment she was born, who meant more to him than anyone could possibly ever imagine, was gone. No matter whose fault it was, it was his responsibility to make it right. It was his job, not hers, to fix this. Mycroft knew he would never know another moment of anything remotely resembling peace until she was home safely. Then he, the defacto parent, could make this right. Make certain Rose knew he loved her as much now as he had the first time he’d held her. Tell her that that love would never change no matter what she did.

Mycroft had always said caring wasn’t an advantage. All lives end and all hearts are broken, so caring was not an advantage for anyone at anytime. That certainly felt true in that moment, when he was certain his heart was breaking. But what he always left out of that little gem of wisdom that ruled so much of his life was that caring was not voluntary and could not always be controlled by a carefully cultivated icy exterior.

Somewhere along the way he’d lost sight of the privilege it had been to raise Rose. To remember that despite all her faults, she was a teenager no different from any other. In moments of extreme exasperation, he’d said words he hadn’t meant and then not taken them back, while she had taken each of them to heart. Caring for her and about her could not be controlled; while initially voluntary- he hadn’t actually been asked out loud to raise her after all- from that first moment it had been something beyond his control. At once a great sense of duty, responsibility, care and privilege; often filled with moments of absolute joy that made the darkness of the world he inhabited fall away. And he’d lost sight of all that, let himself subconsciously feel as though she were a burden in an already overloaded life full of massive never ending responsibilities that were only exacerbated by her seemingly constant misbehavior.

But what if it hadn’t been constant misbehavior? What, if like all the Holmes siblings, she hadn’t quite been able to put her sentiments into words and had been trying to reach out for him and get his attention and instead of looking past her behavior he’d merely punished and pushed her away? Why, god, why hadn’t he asked? Why hadn’t he paid more attention? Rose had never really been a horrible child, not like legitimately horrible children. Why had he merely resorted to shouting and, in effect, ignore the problem?

This was by far the most monumental mistake he had ever made in his life, bar none in past, present or future. There were endless means of analyzing this letter and every little action that he and Rose had made over the past few years, since Sherlock had finally moved out. His mind raced through them all, unable to stop itself from doing so, with each equation ending in the painful realization that he and he alone was at fault and that _his_ little girl might never come home again.

“Oh god,” Mycroft moaned in genuine heartache. “What have I done?”

\----------------------------------

Twenty minutes later Sherlock asked the same thing, slamming his elder brother against the wall and looking as angry as Mycroft had ever seen him. “I. Told. You,” he said through gritted teeth. “I told you something was wrong, I told you that you were pulling away too much, that you weren’t looking beyond the surface of things. How could you let it get this bad Mycroft? HOW?”

Sherlock grabbed him by his shirt front and pulled him forward a bit before slamming him against the wall again. “I would break every bone in your body right now if we didn’t need you and your capabilities to find her. We better find her Mycroft. She’s out there all alone, god knows where. _Our_ Rose.”

He released his grip on Mycroft and began searching Rose’s bedroom for any clues of where she might be heading. Mycroft went to his office, intending to do everything within his considerable expanse of powers to find Rose and bring her home safe and sound.

_Ten Months Later_

“I thought you said you were never sure if it was really a danger night?” John asked the voice at the other end of the phone call.

“This time I’m certain,” Mycroft said firmly. “Stay with him John. Discreetly search the flat if possible. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“Why? Why are you certain this time when you’ve never been certain before?”

“Because this day means something to us… to Sherlock,” Mycroft stated, sounding tired.

John frowned at his phone. “What does that mean? What does this day mean? I’d be better able to help him if I knew what the hell you were talking about.”

“We don’t talk about it,” the other man snapped. “And don’t ask him about it!”

The phone line went dead, leaving John feeling confused. What could possibly make this ordinary day one that could push Sherlock back into drugs? Granted, he’d noted the man was a bit off today. Or rather, a bit off for Sherlock. But it was 20 December, a day like any other, surely.

He’d been almost _too_ quiet and spent most of the day, John was certain, in his mind palace. He looked over at the figure on the couch, wearing a dressing gown, curled up on his side facing the back of the couch. A _lot_ of time in his mind palace. There hadn’t even been a single experiment or even a mention of one all day.

“Sherlock… is everything alright?”

The man on the couch never moved, but he did reply, “Yes, John.”

He sounded tired and if John didn’t know the man better, he’d swear Sherlock even sounded a bit… sad? Nostalgic? Something was going on, but how far could he push him? “You’re sure?”

“Quite.”

“And you’d tell--”

“BE QUIET!” Sherlock bellowed.

That, John decided, had in fact been far enough. With a sigh, he headed into the kitchen to make tea.

\--------------------------------

Across town, Mycroft was nursing yet another brandy. He was going to be well into his cups before the night was out, he was certain of it. A man was allowed excess every now again, he supposed. Not him, never him, but today was Rose’s nineteenth birthday and he still had no idea where she was or if she was safe, or if she was dead.

He’d never thought that ten months later he’d be sitting here, alone in the house with his brandy in front of the fireplace in what could only be classified as exquisite pain. Not a day went by that he didn’t think of her, that he didn’t worry about her, that he didn’t strain to listen for the tiniest sound that might mean she was in the house. Only it never came, day after day after day.

Rose knew him well apparently, well enough to successfully hide from him and his vast network of resources for ten months. He, however, did not know her well enough to even find new avenues of clues to her whereabouts. She’d used her passport the night she’d left, her name was on a flight manifest and her face on the CCTV footage at Heathrow. She’d been spotted at an airport in Vienna, again on CCTV, and then vanished into thin air.

Her name never came up in any databases, facial recognition wasn’t able to locate her through the various spy networks and satellites he may or may not have had legitimate access to. Mycroft had spent considerable time and resources trying to find her, but there’d been nothing. How she managed it he had no idea, and he might even be proud of her cleverness if he wasn’t so utterly frightened for her.

Yes, tonight was most definitely a danger night, for Sherlock and for himself, as the day of their beloved sister’s birthday passed without her presence. Mycroft had hoped, and even prayed, despite the fact that he didn’t really believe in a god or higher power, that she’d come home today. He’d even bought a card and present, just in case.

Part of him wondered if he’d ever see her again, and as the clock chimed exactly midnight, he closed his eyes and offered up yet another prayer, begging whatever or whomever would listen to him, to bring his little girl home today. “Let today be the day,” he whispered.


	8. Bringing Up Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As previously noted, I named Mrs. Holmes Maud. I've now named Mr. Holmes William, which explains why Sherlock is called Sherlock.

_Mycroft, Age 10 and ½_

An eyebrow arched, he surveyed his parents with a look of disdain. “A baby? Why would we want one of those? They’re beastly.”

His parents had the nerve to laugh at him. “Oh Mikey, babies are wonderful. You were a baby once,” Maud Holmes pointed out. “Wouldn’t you like to have someone to play with?”

“Babies are not wonderful. They are loud, obnoxious, and often smell. They also shove things into their mouths that have no business being there,” Mycroft stated. “A baby is a very bad idea. If you’re concerned that I’m lonely, there is a much easier solution. I want a puppy. Let’s have one of those instead.”

_Seven Months Later_

Mycroft tiptoed through the hall of the hospital as he made his way toward his mother’s room. Mother had had the baby late last night and Mycroft had been foisted off on the nearest neighbor. Already the baby was inconveniencing his life and Mycroft hadn’t even met it yet! When his father gave him a look, Mycroft plastered a smile on his face before entering the room.

“You look very tired. I told you a baby was a terrible idea,” Mycroft stated in that all-too-adult tone of his.

Sometimes Maud and William Holmes couldn’t even remember a time when Mycroft hadn’t sounded like that.

“Bringing a baby into the world isn’t an easy thing,” Maud said patiently. “But that’s not important just now. Come meet your brother. You’ll get to play with him when he grows bigger.” She waved her eldest child over to the bed to peek at the infant in her arms.

“Hello,” Mycroft greeted it formally. “What’s his name?”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Of course we’ll call him Sherlock, since Daddy’s name is William,” Maud explained. “Do you want to hold him?”

Mycroft shook his head. “When can I have a puppy?”

William rolled his eyes. “You have a brother; you don’t need a puppy Mycroft.”

“Well he looks rather useless, if you ask me,” Mycroft decided.

“We didn’t ask,” William countered, pinching his son’s arm in warning. “And you will love him because he’s your brother, and he will love you for the same reason.”

“I’d rather have a puppy Father.”

_Given Mycroft’s thoughts at the time of Sherlock’s birth it was a wonder he ever paid any attention to the little boy. Funnily enough, he did come to love that brother of his._

\--------------------------------

_Three Months Before Rose’s Birth_

Mycroft stood in a local bookstore, scanning the shelves with his eyes. Who would have imagined that so many books could exist on one topic? How hard could parenting really be? Well, if one’s child was Sherlock, there would need to be a great many books.

Aside from his pesky younger brother, however, children really couldn’t be that complicated, but if the books were anything to go by, there was a great deal to consider. And he, Mycroft Holmes, would consider and prepare and be a very well read person before the latest Holmes entered the world in approximately three months time. After all, he didn’t want this one turning out like Sherlock!

Not to mention Father was very rarely home anymore it seemed. Mycroft was, as ever, a realist. Mother’s health wasn’t always the best and on a certain level he had considered carrying and birthing another child to be a poor decision for her physical wellbeing. For some reason, Mother had been offended when he’d said that, and he hadn’t bothered to ask why.

The point, however, was that Mother was unlikely to be able to care for a newborn all on her own and Father was unlikely to stay home for very long after said newborn made her appearance into the world. Thus, it would fall to him to be the defacto parent for the coming child. He had accepted this and decided to be the best possible older brother-parent he could be. This was how he had been led here, to the bookstore, and to this massive section of books on children.

Two hours later, Mycroft had picked out ten of what seemed to be the most helpful of the forty books or so he’d briefly skimmed. He’d have them all read by tomorrow, provided nobody threatened to blow anything up in the next twenty-four hours. One could always hope!

Making his way to the register, Mycroft put the books on the counter and waited his turn. Oh, how he hated waiting!

“Hello, sir,” the young female cashier greeted him. “Oh, are you expecting a little one? How exciting! Boy or a girl?”

“Girl,” he answered absentmindedly. The only thing he hated more than waiting was inane chatter and small talk.

“Aw, that’s so sweet. Wow, that’s a lot of books. First one?”

“Yes.”

She smiled, not the least bit put off by his sharp tone. “Have you picked out a name yet?’

“I’m certain my mother will name her something suitably ridiculous enough to blend in with the rest of the family.”

An awkward bit of silence followed as Mycroft realized how odd that statement was and the cashier tried to think of a suitable way to respond.

“I’ll be raising my little sister, who is very much an accidental and unplanned child. She’ll be welcome just the same,” Mycroft finally said.

“Oh. Father not in the picture?”

He fought to keep the irritation from his voice as he responded. “Not really, no.”

The cashier gave him a smile and Mycroft couldn’t begin to fathom why. “She’ll be a very lucky little girl to have a big brother like you,” the young lady said sincerely.

\-----------------------------------------

_Three Months Later- 20 December_

Much like Sherlock, the newest Holmes made her arrival in the world in the wee hours of the morning. 5:47am to be precise.

Father had phoned home the good news, completely unsurprised to find both his sons awake at that time of the morning, and knowing full well it was not because they were anxious to hear about the baby. “Bring Sherlock in this afternoon to see her. She’s a lovely little thing. A perfect English rose,” William said proudly. “Mother is well and sends her love to you both.”

Mycroft did just as he was asked and dutifully came to the hospital with Sherlock in tow that afternoon. While Sherlock had rather been looking forward to a new sibling, he hadn’t been thrilled to be bodily dragged away from his latest experiment.

“Were you excited when I was born, Mycroft?”

The elder Holmes child shook his head. “Not a bit. I wanted a puppy, but instead I got you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and was about to respond in kind when they came upon their mother’s hospital room and he immediately assumed a very innocent look.

“Boys, how lovely that you came to see us,” Maud greeted. “She’s even awake for you to greet her properly, isn’t that nice? Oh, what have you got Mikey?”

Today, given how exhausted his mother looked, Mycroft decided to forego the usual snide comment about that ridiculous nickname. “For the baby,” he said, offering the little pink bag to her.

Maud pulled out the little teddy bear with a smile. It was brown, wearing a pink footed sleeper with a little white collar and was absolutely precious. “Thank you boys!”

“No, that’s just from Mycroft. I got the baby something else.” Sherlock produced a soft pink receiving blanket, covered in little white stars.

“Oh Mother, please do not start crying,” Mycroft grumbled when his mother started sniffling.

“Here Mikey, hold the baby,” Maud decided, passing the tiny little girl over.

A beautiful, sweet face peeked out at him from the blanket. Her eyes were wide open and she was studying him intently. Surprisingly thick black hair stood out starkly from the yellow ducky blanket she was wrapped in.

“She’s so _small_ ,” Sherlock commented. “Are babies always that small? Was I that small?”

“No, you were about four inches longer,” William answered. “Both you boys were tall. She’ll be a little thing.”

“What’s her name?” Mycroft asked. He sat in a chair by the bed and cuddled the newborn close.

“Rosenwyn Aramantha.”

Sherlock looked absolutely horrified. “That’s a really stupid name,” he decided. A few seconds later the eleven year old yelped and rubbed the back of his head, glaring daggers at Mycroft.

“Boys, be kind to each other,” William admonished.

With a sigh, Sherlock turned to look at the baby once more. “That’s a really big name Mummy. How can you give her such a big name when she’s so small? I’m never going to call her that.”

“What will you call her then?” Maud asked indulgently.

“Rose. That’s much better for her I think. Less stupid, easier to say, and it fits her better,” Sherlock explained.

“Actually that’s not a bad idea,” Mycroft said, taking them all by surprise when he agreed with his younger brother. “Rose should suit her just fine. What do you think?” he asked the baby.

The little bundle blinked at him before closing her eyes and falling fast asleep. “I do believe the young lady in question agrees to the usage of that nickname,” Mycroft decided.

\-------------------------------

_Age 3 Months_

“Mother, where’s Rose? And where’s Sherlock for that matter?” Mycroft asked one Saturday morning.

“They’re playing together,” Maud said with a smile. “Sherlock took her to have tummy time in his room. They were reading last time I checked.”

An eyebrow quirked. “Are you certain that’s a good idea?”

“I don’t see why not. He takes very good care of her. Go see for yourself. I’m going to have a cuppa.” Maud kissed Mycroft’s cheek and disappeared into the kitchen.

Sighing heavily Mycroft headed upstairs, determined to track down his siblings, ready to murder one if harm had come to the baby. It turned out, however, that he was quite pleasantly surprised.

Sherlock was lying on his stomach on the floor next to Rose, who was lying on her stomach on a blanket. “Hmm. That’s not quite correct, but I do think you understand the concept. Or, if you don’t, I’ll help you when you’re bigger and Mummy says you’re old enough for experiments. Chemistry is really quite fascinating, don’t you agree?”

The little baby cooed around the fist she had in her mouth, eyes focused on the textbook her big brother was holding.

“You cannot possibly think she understands a word of that, Sherlock,” Mycroft commented gently. “She merely likes the sound of your voice.”

“But baby’s minds are like sponges,” Sherlock protested. “You told me that, you read it in one of those silly books of yours on bringing up babies.”

“They are, but I think chemistry is a bit out of her grasp just now.”

“Why are you bothering us, Mycroft? We’re bonding. Go away.”

Rose made noises, almost as if she agreed with Sherlock, and Mycroft chuckled.

“You worry when I’ve got her, don’t you? I know I’m eleven and you’re older than dirt, but I’m not going to hurt her,” Sherlock pointed out. “I’m very careful with her. She’s my sister too, Mycroft. I won’t ever hurt her.”

Grudgingly, the eldest brother nodded. “I know. I always worry about her though, and not just with you. Just in general, and I think I always will. We’ll have to take care of her, Sherlock, together.” Mycroft crossed the room and picked up the baby, cuddling her against his shoulder.

“How are you, Rose?” he asked, rubbing her back. “Were you having tummy time? Building all those muscles up, it’s good for you.”

“We’ve been reading,” Sherlock said, moving to sit closer to Mycroft. “I read her other things first. A book about a bunny with a stupid name.”

“Oh, was it about a bunny named Sherlock?” Mycroft teased.

“Rose, I’m going to tell you a very important thing right now. Are you listening?” Sherlock asked. The baby turned her head at the sound of Sherlock’s voice, making her brother smile. “I’m the fun brother and Mycroft is the mean one. Don’t forget that!”

\-------------------------------------------------

_Age 7.5 Months_

The Holmes house had permanently erupted in chaos. It’s youngest member, Rose, was on the move and practically unstoppable. She’d learned to crawl two weeks ago and had become proficient enough that she could move quite quickly. Very little was beyond her ability to access it and nearly everything she touched was promptly put in her mouth.

The chaos that was Rose was currently on the loose, crawling down the front hallway. Mycroft, on the phone with the French ambassador in his office, spotted the renegade in her yellow footed sleeper crawling past his door. He placed the ambassador on hold and exited the study to capture Rose, who giggled and wriggled in his arms.

“Where are Mother and Sherlock, hm?” Mycroft settled Rose on his hip and looked down the hallway. “It would seem you’ve escaped whoever was watching you. I suppose you’ll just have to stay with me.” He brought her back into his study and placed her in the playpen he kept in there. It was well stocked with books and toys, which immediately drew her attention, allowing him to return to the phone.

The conversation resumed in French while Rose played with her toys quietly for a few minutes. It wasn’t long before the baby started talking to herself, or perhaps to the stuffed toys, in what Mycroft was certain was the loudest of voices.

“Is that a child I hear? Where are you exactly Mycroft?” the ambassador asked.

“I’m attempting to work from home, obviously a mistake. And yes, that is a child. My younger sister escaped her captors and is currently having a very serious conversation with a stuffed dog,” Mycroft responded with a sigh.

The ambassador laughed. “This isn’t life or death Mycroft. Call me back in an hour. I have little ones of my own, I know how they are.”

“If you’re certain.”

“I am.”

The two men said their goodbyes and Mycroft hung up the phone before turning his attention back to Rose. He crossed the room and lifted her out of the playpen, unable to resist smiling when she patted his cheek and began talking to him. “I was speaking with the French ambassador Rose, were you aware of that? Yes, I’m gathering that you don’t care about that even a little bit. Silly girl.”

The baby laughed and then reached out her arms for Sherlock when he came running into the room.

“She got away from me; I don’t know how it happened!”

“She crawls, Sherlock, you must watch her every minute. She’s not old enough to know what is and isn’t safe and cannot be left to her own devices like that,” Mycroft scolded.

Sherlock scowled at his brother before taking Rose and cuddling her close. “He’s the mean brother, Rose, remember that. Come on, story time and then I’m going to tuck you in. Mummy said it’s my turn.”

Mycroft watched them leave, shaking his head.

\----------------------------------------------

_Age 9 months_

Today, the world had not blown itself up or even come near to it. Everyone behaved properly for the most part, he’d met with the Queen for the first time and their meeting had gone well, and he’d received his second promotion this year. Already he was becoming an integral and indispensible part of the government, just as he’d always planned to be. The new office was quite nice as well, but he was undecided at present if he would keep his current PA, who had a tendency to babble and couldn’t quite seem to work the intercom properly. Perhaps a few more days would even the young woman out.

As a bit of celebration, Mycroft had left the office at precisely 5pm, much earlier than he usually went home. His sleek black car and blissfully silent driver whisked him back home and he retrieved the key from his pocket to let himself in the door. Once he was inside, he was shocked at what he saw.

There in the sitting room, Rose grabbed hold of the coffee table and pulled herself up onto her legs and then began toddling around. Mycroft held his breath for a moment, hoping she wouldn’t fall and smack her head into something, but she was steadier than he’d anticipated.

Dropping his things there in the entry, Mycroft moved closer to the sitting room, smiling when Rose caught sight of him, her little face lighting up. “Well look at you Poppet, such a big girl,” he murmured, stopping just outside the room. He went down on one knee and held his arms out. “Come here. Come to me Rose. You can do it. I know it’s quite a distance for someone as little as you, but you can do it poppet. Come here.”

Rose called out excitedly and began moving towards him. Slowly but surely she walked all the way across the sitting room and right into his arms.

Mycroft was sure he’d never been more proud in all his life. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close and kissing her cheek. “Well done poppet. I’m so very proud of you,” he said quietly. “You’re growing up so fast. Slow down just a bit, hm? I don’t want to miss everything while I’m at work.”

The baby merely responded by giving him a wet kiss on the cheek and snuggling against his chest. Maud Holmes, ever ready with a camera, snapped a photograph of the two of them. Mycroft rewarded her with a bit of a scowl, which she completely ignored, smiling brightly in return.

\------------------------------------

_20 December- 1 st Birthday_

“Will she get to eat all that cake?” Sherlock asked his mother.

Maud looked up from frosting the cake in question and smiled at her youngest son. “No, of course not. We’ll give her a piece and she’ll mash most of it up and eat a bit of it. The rest is for us.”

“Are you going to take pictures? You should, it makes Mycroft so annoyed when you take pictures of him smiling with Rosie,” Sherlock reminded her with a smirk.

“And you delight in his discomfort Sherlock, I’m well aware,” she chuckled.

“Are you excited for your birthday, Rosie?” Sherlock asked the baby. He smiled when she giggled and walked over to him. “Want to play peek-a-boo?”

The sound of the front door opening caught her attention and Rose squealed in delight when Mycroft and their father appeared in the kitchen a moment later. She ran right over to Mycroft and attached herself to his leg for a moment before holding her arms up.

Mycroft laughed and picked her up. “Hello birthday girl.”

“Hi dada,” Rose answered. Everyone in the room froze for a moment; she’d just indentified Mycroft as dada in front of her father. She’d never done that before and of course she’d have to do it now, in front of her mostly absent but loving father.

The camera went off, capturing the moment of discomfort forever. William Holmes tried not to look too disappointed, considering he wasn’t home very often.

“Baby, aren’t you precious,” Maud said, finally breaking the silence. “But that’s not Daddy. That’s Mikey! Can you say Mikey? Mikey.”

“Mother, don’t get her started on that,” Mycroft grumbled. “My name is Mycroft and I don’t understand why it is so difficult for you to say the name you gave me.”

Maud moved closer to her children and rubbed Rose’s cheek with her hand. “Say Mikey, Rose. Mikey. My-key. Sound it out,” she encouraged.

Rose scrunched up her face as if thinking hard about what her mother was saying. “Icky?” She asked before looking up at Mycroft. “Icky?”

“Yes, darling, very good!” Maud praised.

Sherlock began laughing, and laughing, and laughing. He laughed so hard he fell off his chair and was practically rolling around on the kitchen floor. “That’s hilarious! Mycroft is now Icky. That’s superb Rose, really it is. I’m _so_ proud! Say it again! Who is that?” he asked, pointing at Mycroft.

“Icky!” No question this time as Rose said the name proudly, knowing she had it correct this time.

“Great job!” Sherlock cheered, clapping his hands. Rose giggled and followed along, clapping her hands too.

“Icky. Icky. Icky.” She gave Mycroft a brilliant smile and put her little arms around his neck for a hug.

“Thank you _so_ much Mother,” Mycroft grumbled as he cuddled Rose. “And Sherlock, I’m going to murder you once Rose is in bed, just so you’re aware.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“You’re a very smart girl, aren’t you?” William praised, reaching over to pat Rose’s back. “Come to Daddy, princess. Come here! Daddy wants to hold you and give you birthday kisses.” He held his arms out for her.

Rose shook her head, giving the man a scowl.

“You look just like Sherlock when you do that,” William laughed. “Come on princess.”

Mycroft handed her over to their father, smiling a bit as the man cuddled Rose close. The smile didn’t last for long however as Rose let out an ear piercing scream and reached for him.

“NO! No! Icky!” Rose cried, reaching out for Mycroft.

Sherlock fell out of his chair again with laughter, while Mycroft, who looked incredibly cross, took Rose back into his arms.

“You’re a difficult child,” Mycroft told the baby. “And you’re hurting Father’s feelings. That’s not very nice.”

Rose settled down as soon as she was back in his arms and rested her head against his shoulder, putting her thumb in her mouth, feeling as though all was now right in the world.

“Sherlock, do get up off the floor dear and try to control yourself,” Maud said with a sigh. She reached for her husband’s hand and squeezed it gently. “Is everyone ready for cake? We should have some cake.”

“I want a very large piece Mummy, and I want to sit by Rose. Can I take pictures of her while she eats? Is she really going to smash the cake? Doesn’t she know its better when it’s not smashed? And who is going to give her a bath before bed? Can I do it? You never let me do it alone, and I’m twelve now. I’m not going to drop her,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Oh Sherlock love, do sit down,” Maud laughed. “My inquisitive little boy. We’ll worry about bath time later and yes, you may take pictures.”

Sherlock took full advantage of having control of the camera, paying far more attention to it than he did his own large slice of cake.

Mycroft helped Rose blow out her candle, as the baby was far more transfixed by the flame than in understanding to blow it out.

As soon as he took the candle out, Rose reached for the cake with both of her little hands, grabbing handfuls of it and bringing it to her mouth.

“Baby, cake goes on the inside,” William said with a laugh. He patted Rose’s head and was rewarded with a smile, which made him feel a bit better. At least she didn’t hate him!

“I think she’s trying to get it in there, but most of it is ending up on her face,” Mycroft commented. “Little bites Rose, don’t choke. That’s a big piece of cake for my tiny poppet.”

Rose gave him a grin and grabbed more handfuls of cake, trying to shove them both into her mouth at once, smearing it mostly on her face. Some of it did get into her mouth. Some of it also fell on the floor, on her pretty pink party dress, and some of it even got in her hair.

“Rose! Smile! Smile!” Sherlock held the camera and waited until he got Rose’s attention before snapping another photo. “She looks more like cake than baby.”

“Sweet enough to eat,” William said, brushing his hand gently through her curly hair. “Oh dear, crumbs in her hair as well.”

As if responding to his comment, Rose touched her hair with both hands, smearing more cake and frosting into it. “Um!”

Mycroft grinned. “Is it yummy? Yummy cake?”

“Um! Um!” Two more handfuls disappeared partially into her mouth while Rose grinned.

“Chew with your mouth closed Rose,” Mycroft scolded lightly. “You’re going to be a lady, have some manners, poppet.”

Rose turned her attention to Mycroft, holding out a handful of smashed cake for him.

“Ew, no Rose,” he said firmly. “You can keep your cake all to yourself.”

The birthday girl made noises of displeasure and kept thrusting it out towards him.

“Oh just take it Myc, you’ll make her happy. She’s learning to share! Aren’t you, precious?” Maud cooed.

“Mother, we really shouldn’t coo at her and speak in baby chatter. She’s intelligent enough to be spoken to normally,” Mycroft pointed out. After all, he’d read books!

“You and your stupid books,” Sherlock grumbled.

Rose drew the attention back to herself by letting out a huge grunt and straining to get Mycroft the nasty bit of cake in her hand.

“Really? Must I Rose?” Mycroft asked, frowning.

“Gah!”

“That’s yes, in baby talk,” Sherlock decided with a smirk. “Go on Mycroft! Do it!” He grinned devilishly at his older brother.

With a heavy sigh, Mycroft put his hand out and accepted the cake. “Hmm. Thank you Rose. That’s very nice to share… I suppose.” He promptly put it in a napkin, making a face as he did so. “At least I can be happy she didn’t throw it at me like you did, brother mine. That’s an improvement.”

Sherlock couldn’t resist and scooped up a piece of his cake, throwing it at Mycroft, dissolving into hysterical laughter as it hit his brother’s chest and rolled down his waistcoat. “Something like that, brother?”

“Ah!” Rose squealed, promptly tossing some of her cake in the general direction of Mycroft. It missed, but she giggled and clapped just the same.

“Thank you Sherlock. You’re so very helpful,” Mycroft grumbled.

“Gah! Ah!” Rose shouted, tossing more cake.

“Do stop looking so pleased with yourself Rose,” Mycroft added.

The baby merely laughed in response and blew him a kiss at Sherlock’s insistence she did so.

_Two Weeks Later_

Rose had been calling him Icky for two weeks. Not even “I-key”, it was actually “icky” and it was driving Mycroft crazy. He knew she was just a baby and couldn’t help it, but Sherlock had been encouraging her to call him that at each and every opportunity. The bear he’d gotten her for her birthday had even been named Icky in his honor, at Sherlock’s urging. His brother was the biggest brat in the world and he fervently hoped Rose wouldn’t take after Sherlock in that way.

It was, Mycroft decided, time to talk to his baby sister about what his name was, and there was really no better time to do it than bedtime!

“Rose, stand still,” Mycroft said with a chuckle. “You’re always so wiggly when you get out of the tub. I’m not letting you run nude through the house again, no matter how much it made Mother laugh,” he told her firmly.

To Rose, life was mostly a game, and she continued to wriggle and try to escape her big brother. Unfortunately for her, Mycroft was well used to her tricks and had closed the bathroom door behind them so there would be no escape. Somehow he even managed to get her completely dry before wrapping her up in a warm towel and carrying her off to her room. Rose leaned back against his chest as he carried her, placing her thumb in her mouth.

After closing the door behind them, Mycroft set Rose on the floor, rolling his eyes as she began running naked all around her room, laughing and clapping and generally having a wonderful time. In short order, he selected a pink polka dotted footed sleeper and managed to wrestle her into it, amid tickles and kisses and a little bit of begging on his part for some cooperation.

“Are you trying to set a world record for being the hardest one year old to dress?” Mycroft asked in all seriousness. “You’re well on your way to winning that title, let me assure you. Now you and I are going to have a talk Poppet. Before we have a story and you get tucked in.”

He carried her over to the rocking chair and sat down, cuddling her close. She watched him with those bright eyes of hers, making him smile and kiss her cheek. “Now Rose, this nonsense about calling me Icky has to stop.”

“Icky,” she said, around the thumb in her mouth. “Icky.”

“No. That is _not_ my name, no matter what Sherlock or anyone else has told you. Not even close,” Mycroft corrected. “My name is Mycroft. My-croft. My-croft,” he said repeatedly, saying the name slowly so she could hear the distinct sounds of it. “Can you say that? Can you try Rose?”

“My?” the little girl offered, looking up at him from under her dark eyelashes. “My. My. My. My.”

Her eldest brother chuckled and tousled her curls. “You’re getting closer. Almost there poppet. Let’s try again. Mycroft. Mycroft. My-croft.”

Rose yawned and patted his cheek with her little hand. Of course, it was the one with the thumb covered it saliva and Mycroft had to fight the instinctual urge to cringe. “My.” She decided. “My.”

“Try the end Rose. It’s not too hard, I’m sure you can manage it, being the smart girl you are,” Mycroft urged her. “Croft. Mycroft.”

Her eyes closed and she rested her head against his shoulder. “My,” Rose said softly. “My.”

Mycroft sighed heavily. “I suppose that will have to suffice,” he decided. “It’s much better than the alternative at any rate. So ‘My’ it is.”

He began rocking back and forth gently in the chair, humming to Rose and rubbing her back gently. When she fell asleep in his arms, Mycroft stayed in the rocker for a little while longer, unwilling to relinquish her just yet. He leaned a cheek against her curls and closed his eyes, feeling the cares of the world slip away for just a few moments of quiet contentment.

 


	9. Once Upon a Closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rose turned ten the month before this story takes place. It occurs 10 weeks before the events of chapter 2 (“What is Right is Hard to Do”).

The door closed for the final time as the sun began to set, casting shadows of color throughout the sky. Mycroft leaned back against the door, taking a deep breath, letting the sudden quiet of the house envelope him for just a few moments.

“I don’t understand why they brought food. Why they _all_ brought food. We had food for today, and additionally, we have a cook. Why bring us food?” Sherlock asked, leaning against the door beside his brother.

“It’s traditional, Sherlock. You bring food to funerals, not only to feed the funeral guests, but to feed the family, who is presumably too upset by the loss of their loved one to be able to feed itself,” Mycroft replied.

“That’s a ridiculous tradition,” Sherlock decided.

“No one said traditions weren’t ridiculous.” That comment earned Mycroft a small smile from his brother.

They fell silent for a moment longer. “Where’s Rose?”

Sherlock shrugged. “She went upstairs an hour or so ago, when people first began leaving. I think this was all very overwhelming for her.”

“We should really find her, make sure she’s alright.”

“What if she doesn’t want to be found?”

Mycroft sighed. “She’s Rose, of course she wants to be found. And if she doesn’t, that’s too bad. I want to make certain she’s alright. After I’ve ascertained that, if she wishes to be alone for a bit, I will pose no objection. But she’s Rose, so I doubt that will be the case.”

With a nod Sherlock headed upstairs with Mycroft close behind him, in search of their sister.

Rose proved to be a bit difficult to find. She wasn’t in her room, the playroom, Mycroft’s room, Sherlock’s room, the library, Mycroft’s office, or any room in the house that they’d searched. A full forty-five minutes passed as they searched for Rose and did not find her.

“Do you think she might be…” Sherlock let his voice trail off, unable to say the words properly, so he’d rather not say them at all.

“No, I don’t think so. Go look anyway. I’ll look outside,” Mycroft decided.

The brothers parted ways and Sherlock headed upstairs, proceeding directly to one room in particular. He stopped at the door, his hand on the knob. Mother’s room; his mother’s room. The room of the woman who was at this very moment dead and buried.

Sherlock took a deep breath and opened the door. The room was quiet and dark. A layer of dust had already begun gathering on the furniture. The faint scent of her lavender perfume clung to the room and its contents. Entering the room fully, he turned on the light. Nothing looked out of place, but that didn’t mean Rose wasn’t in here.

He checked under the bed and in the adjoining bathroom and finding them empty, had just one place left to look- the closet. Sherlock crossed the room and put his hand on the knob and began to turn it, only to have someone hold the knob firm from the other side.

“Rose?”

No answer.

“Rose, I know you’re in there. Let me open the door.” After thirty seconds, he could feel that she’d released the knob and Sherlock opened the closet door. The sight that greeted him broke his heart. Wrapped up in a quilt Mother had made her, was his little sister. Her face was red from crying, her nose was running and she was trembling. Rose said nothing and wouldn’t even look at him.

“Oh sweetheart,” Sherlock whispered, kneeling down in front of her. “Come here.” He held his arms out for her, expecting her to emerge from the closet for a cuddle.

Only she didn’t. Rose began sniffling and threw the quilt over her head, turning away from him.

“Come on now, Rosie. You don’t have to cry alone, I’m here.” When she made no move to come out of the closet, Sherlock reached for her and was kicked for his troubles.

“No! No! I won’t go!” Rose shouted from beneath the quilt.

“Go? Go where? What are you talking about?” Sherlock questioned. “Rose, let me make it better. Tell me what’s making you so upset, please.” When she continued to ignore him, Sherlock got up from the floor and went in search of Mycroft.

“She’s not outside,” Mycroft said, greeting Sherlock as he entered the house. “We should call Eleanor, maybe she snuck home with them.”

Sherlock shook his head. “She’s upstairs, in Mother’s closet. Something’s _wrong_ , she won’t come out. She told me she didn’t want to go, but wouldn’t say where it was she was going.”

Mycroft frowned, unable to think of what Rose might mean. Shaking his head, he followed Sherlock back upstairs and into their mother’s room. There was no time for nostalgia as both brothers went straight to the closet.

Unwilling to let her cry alone any longer, no matter what the reason, Sherlock went right into the closet to sit beside her. It was a very, very awkward fit, his legs sticking out at odd angles, but at least he was beside her.

Mycroft’s eyebrow rose at Sherlock’s actions but didn’t comment on it, instead choosing to sit just outside of the closet. “Rose? We’re here now; Sherlock and I. Tell us what’s wrong. It’s all right to cry about Mother; about missing her and about everything today. There’s nothing wrong with crying and you don’t have to hide your tears. Why don’t you come out of there so we can sit together? You can bring your blanket if you want.”

The brothers shared a look when Rose didn’t respond, and Sherlock awkwardly hugged the blanket, hoping he didn’t smother Rose in the process. Though that would get her out from under the blanket, he admitted silently to himself.

A moment later the blanket slipped down and Rose’s head emerged. She scooted closer to Sherlock and when he picked her up to hold her on his lap, she began clinging to him as if her very life depended upon it.

“There there,” Sherlock whispered, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

“I don’t want to go. It doesn’t matter where you send me, I don’t want to go,” Rose said quietly. Her head was turned so that she was clearly addressing Mycroft with these questions.

Her eldest brother looked puzzled. “What are you on about Rose? Where do you think you’re going or being sent?”

“Away. Somewhere away,” she responded. “Because Mummy is gone and you won’t have time for me anymore. I’ll be too much work.”

Mycroft was completely stunned by her statements. He couldn’t even fathom where she would have got such ideas into her head. He tried to formulate a reassuring response, not missing the way Sherlock held onto her tighter, whispering something into her ear.

“I have no idea where you got the idea that we were too busy for you or would send you away,” he began, keeping his voice even but firm. “But wherever that came from, put it out of your mind this minute because you, Rosenwyn Holmes, are not going anywhere. This is your home, we are your family, and that will never, ever change. There is no other place in the world that you belong other than right here with us and here is where you will stay.”

“We love you,” Sherlock added in a hushed, almost reverent tone. “I for one cannot imagine life without you.” He began carding his fingers through her hair, feeling her relax against him.

“I can’t either. We’re going to continue to take care of you, the same way we always have,” Mycroft continued. “Admittedly things will be different now…” He paused, taking a deep breath to steady his voice. “For all of us. But we will work through it together and no matter what, this is your home and you are _not_ going anywhere.”

“Promise?” Rose asked. “Promise with all your heart? Even when I’m difficult and nasty and don’t listen and everything?”

“Well you’re hardly nasty,” Mycroft said with a chuckle. “In any case, nothing you do will change this. I promise you, Rose, with every fiber of my being, that I will always take care of you.”

The little girl was a bit in awe at the vehemence with which Mycroft said those words. They were precisely what she wanted, and needed, to hear and she believed him instantly. A little bit of weight from her heart was lifted away.

“I promise too, with all my heart,” Sherlock added, before kissing the top of her head. “You are quite stuck with us, sweetheart, whether you like it or not.”

“I like it,” she assured him.

“Who put all this nonsense into your head?” Sherlock asked.

Rose pressed her face against his chest. “Don’t want to say,” she answered, her words a bit muffled.

The brothers shared a look over her head; bullies again. Clearly Mycroft needed to make yet another visit to the school and issue serious threats once more. No one threatened quite like Mycroft. Why was it that nobody bothered to do anything unless he showed up and _made_ them do something?

Perhaps it was just time for a new school altogether. Or home school. A vision of Sherlock and Rose blowing up part of the house emerged in his mind’s eye. No, definitely _not_ home school. The house wouldn’t survive it.

“Will you come out of the closet now?” Mycroft asked. He sighed heavily when she shook her head. “Why not?”

“It smells like Mummy in here.” Rose pressed her face against Sherlock’s chest for a moment. “I know I can’t have her back, but I want her back. Nobody can do the things Mummy did and I need her to do them!” Her voice cracked and Rose began sobbing. They were deep, heavy sobs, full of emotion that shook her slight shoulders and sounded so very despondent.

Immediately Sherlock held her tighter, so tight he thought she might break. The sound of her desperate sobs brought tears to Sherlock’s eyes and he had to close his eyes to keep them from falling. He tried to rock her a bit, but since they were in a closet, that was a bit hard to do, though he tried just the same.

Mycroft gestured for Sherlock to move over, despite the fact that there was very little space to move. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock complied, moving around a bit to make space for Mycroft. By the time Mycroft was in the closet Sherlock was certain they made a very odd picture; two tall, lanky men and their legs sticking out of the closet, clothes hanging just barely above their heads. Thank god the closet was tall.

“If you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll strangle you,” Mycroft whispered in Sherlock’s ear. God only knew what would happen if it became known that he’d crawled inside a closet for some sort of very awkward family cuddle. He immediately began rubbing Rose’s back as she sobbed.

There was no need for words at that moment so neither brother said any. Rose just needed to know they were there for her, that she wasn’t alone, and be given the chance to cry all the tears she so bravely held back all day. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, her sobs died down to sniffles and Rose turned her head away from Sherlock’s chest, resting her cheek against it instead.

“Feel a little better?” Mycroft asked, looking at her with concern. He was pleased when she nodded just a bit. “Sometimes it’s helpful to have a good cry. Don’t think you have to be brave and hide when you’re sad. Promise me you won’t.”

“Promise,” she whispered.

“What was it that made you so upset before?” Sherlock asked. “We’re not Mummy, but we’ll try our best, whatever it is.”

“No one will rub my tummy anymore when I get sick. Mummy always did that and made me feel better,” Rose explained softly.

Well that wasn’t a hard one to solve! Sherlock tipped her head up to look at him. “I do believe I’m plenty capable of rubbing tummies when the occasion calls for it,” he replied in a serious tone. “If you want me to.”

Rose nodded. “It always makes me feel better, every time.”

“Then I’ll do it, every time,” he promised. “What else?”

“Who is going to do my hair for school? Mummy always did my hair for school, in braids most of the time,” the little girl explained. “I can do my hair sometimes, well, lots of times, but I can’t French braid.”

“I think Sherlock and I can manage that,” Mycroft offered. “Depending upon who is here on a given morning. Would that be alright if we tried?”

“I don’t want to look silly,” the little girl told him seriously. “If you do it, you have to do it right.”

“We’ll manage,” Mycroft promised. “No one will let you leave the house looking silly.”

That answer seemed to satisfy Rose and she nodded before resting her head against Sherlock’s chest once more.

“What else?” Sherlock prompted. “Anything else you can think of that Mycroft and I need to do?”

“I can’t think of anything. But I’ll let you know, okay?”

Sherlock nodded and kissed the top of her head. “That sounds just fine. It’ll take some adjusting, but we’ll work it out together, I promise.”

“I do have a question though,” Rose said, addressing both brothers. “Am… am I an orphan now? That’s a terrible word I think, orphan. It just sounds sad.”

“If we’re going strictly by definition then yes, you are, because both your parents are dead,” Sherlock answered.

Rose began sniffling once more and Mycroft immediately glared at his brother. As smart as Sherlock was, at times he could be incredibly daft!

Sherlock, however, wasn’t finished and opened his mouth to continue. “But this world doesn’t run strictly by definitions, especially when it comes to family. There are all sorts of families in the world, aren’t there?” He looked down at her with a little smile, hoping to encourage her to answer.

Rose nodded. “Lots of kinds of families. Like Lillian at school, she has two mummies.”

He smiled a bit bigger. “That’s a very good example. Families come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, and while you don’t have parents, you have us. Mycroft and I. You can’t be an orphan if you have two brothers to bring you up.”

“That’s true I suppose. And we’ve always been an odd sort, us Holmeses,” Rose admitted.

Mycroft chuckled. “That’s very true. It just wouldn’t do for us to be ordinary.” He felt a rush of relief when she gave him a smile.

“So you see, you aren’t an orphan, definition be damned,” Sherlock told her firmly. “Because you have us and we’ll do our very best for you.”

“You two always know all the answers. I hope I’m as smart when I’m all grown up,” Rose decided.

“Do you think we could vacate the closet now?” Mycroft asked. “It’s feeling a bit tight in here. Are you ready to get out?”

“I guess so,” she agreed. “But we’re not done cuddling. Just so you’re aware.”

Mycroft gave her a bit of a smile. “Duly noted.” He extricated himself from the closet, which was about as easy as it had been to get in.

“Take the child,” Sherlock ordered. “I can’t hold her and get up.”

Rose giggled just a bit. “The child can get up on her own,” she quipped. Before doing so, she kissed Sherlock’s cheek and crawled out of the blanket, taking it with her as she exited the closet.

A few hours later the three Holmes siblings were gathered in the sitting room watching an old film on television. When the credits began rolling, Mycroft looked at the clock and saw it was well past Rose’s usual bedtime.

“And that is our last film this evening. It’s time for little girls to be in bed,” he announced.

Rose made a whining noise. “But the next film is _The Lodger_ and that’s my very favorite!”

“Don’t bother pouting about it, I’m immune; you can thank Sherlock for that,” Mycroft told her. “It can’t possibly be your favorite, unless every film you watch is your very favorite, because you’ve said that already tonight.”

“That was my favorite drama. This is my favorite silent film,” the little girl countered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Mycroft’s right; about bedtime, not the pouting,” he clarified. “Who do you want to tuck you in?”

“You,” Rose decided. She scooted over and helped herself to Mycroft’s lap. “Good night My. I love you,” she whispered, hugging him tightly.

“I love you too,” he murmured, kissing her cheek. “Sleep sweet.”

Sherlock stood up and scooped her up into his arms.

“I can walk you know,” Rose told him, even as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I know. But I like carrying you. You’re small,” Sherlock replied.

“Brilliant deduction,” she giggled before sobering. “Sherlock, is it okay to laugh? Are we allowed to? Is it terrible to laugh when Mummy is gone? Can we have lots of fun still, or not anymore?”

Sherlock pulled the bed clothes back before depositing her gently on the bed. “That, my dear sister, is a very good question,” he began. When she crawled under the covers he sat down beside her. “Mother wouldn’t want us to be sad for her. She’d want us to remember her, always, but I don’t think she’d like it very much if we stopped laughing and having fun. I think that would actually make her very sad, to think we stopped doing those things.”

“Mummy did like to smile and laugh,” Rose added. “Even when she didn’t feel well, she had a smile. So I think you’re right and I’m glad of that. I like having fun and being silly, but I would’ve given it all up, for Mummy, if that was the right thing to do.”

“You are a very special little girl Rose,” Sherlock said quietly. “A very special and good girl. Mummy was so proud of you, do you know that? She loved you so very much and was so proud of how smart you are, how good you are, what a beautiful dancer you are. So very, very proud of her baby. I hope you know that.”

Tears gathered in Rose’s bright blue eyes and she tried to blink them away. Her efforts failed miserably and the tears began silently sliding down her cheeks.

Sherlock immediately felt like an arse. “I’m sorry Rosie, I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to upset you sweetheart,” he murmured. “I… I thought you’d want to know and be reassured.”

She nodded and sniffled. “I did and I’m glad you said it,” Rose told him sincerely. She swiped away her tears with her hands. “Sherlock, I’m scared and don’t want to be alone. Will you stay until I go to sleep?”

“Come here,” Sherlock murmured, pulling her into his arms. He began rocking her gently, stroking her hair with one hand. “There’s nothing to be scared of,” he soothed. “Would you feel better if you slept in my room again?”

Rose nodded, confirming she would.

He picked up her treasured stuffed bear and handed it to her before he stood up with her in his arms. Sherlock kissed the top of her head and, after stopping to turn off the light, carried her into his room. “Crawl under the covers, I’ll be right back.”

“Everything alright?” Mycroft asked when Sherlock came back into the sitting room.

“Not really, no, but it will be. She’s going to sleep in my room tonight, I just wanted to let you know so you didn’t have a heart attack when you try to peek in on her before you turn in,” Sherlock admitted.

Just the tiniest bit of pink appeared on Mycroft’s cheeks. He hadn’t been aware Sherlock knew of that habit. “It’s a very bad precedent to set. She cannot spend every night in your room or--”

“I don’t want to hear it Mycroft,” Sherlock interrupted. “She’s feeling vulnerable and I’m going to do everything I can to make her feel better. That’s my job; _our_ job. It won’t become a nightly habit, whatever you may think. Good night.”

Mycroft scowled at his retreating brother’s back.

“Sherlock? Are you coming?” Rose called. She gave him a little smile when he entered the room.

“I’m going to change, hold on,” he said with a smile. He disappeared into the bathroom with his pajama pants and t-shirt and changed, returning to his room after he put his clothes in the laundry basket.

“Sherlock?”

“What?” he asked, sitting down on the bed.

“I love you. I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I’ve got you,” Rose whispered.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Sherlock told her. “And I love you too. Under the covers now.”

She did as he asked, burrowing under the covers with Teddy as Sherlock settled back against the headboard. “Comfy?” he asked and smiled when she nodded. “Need anything else?”

“Just cuddles.”

Sherlock gave her an outraged look. “Cuddles? _Cuddles_? Hmm, you don’t ask for much, do you? Would you like the crown jewels as well? A trip to the south of France?”

Rose pretended to consider the matter seriously for a moment. “No, the queen better keep her jewels; after all I like her. Don’t want to travel either. Just cuddles.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Well I suppose, just this once.” Sherlock wrapped an arm around her when she cuddled up against his side and kissed the top of her head. “Now close your eyes and go to sleep Rose. It’s very late and Mycroft will scold us both if you aren’t asleep soon.” Sherlock reached over to shut off the lamp beside the bed.

Sherlock began humming, holding her close, and before long began singing quietly. “Come, sweetheart mine. Don’t you sit and pine. Tell me of the cares that make you feel so blue…”

\--------------------------

Three days later, Rose was all set to return to school. Her lunch was packed, her backpack was ready and waiting by the door, she was dressed and had her shoes on. Only one thing remained and it was an important thing.

She knocked loudly on Mycroft’s study door before opening it. When he glared at her, she waved the comb and hair ribbon at him. Rolling his eyes, he waved her into the office and immediately began speaking in Italian rather than English. Balancing the phone on one hunched up shoulder he attempted to continue the conversation while braiding Rose’s hair.

When Mycroft finished with her hair he put his caller on hold and turned Rose around to look at him. “Have a lovely day my dear,” he said sincerely. “Be certain to call my office if you need anything at all. Be a good girl for me.” When she threw her arms around him, he gave her a hug and kissed her forehead before returning to his phone call.

Rose shut the door tightly behind her and headed for the entry way to get her coat and hat.

“There you are!” Sherlock called from the stairs. “I was looking for you and….” His voice trailed off and he gave her a strange look.

“What? Do I have something on me?” Rose asked, looking down at her clothes.

“Did you do your hair?”

She shook her head. “No, Mycroft did. Why?”

“Hmm. Bit not good I’m afraid,” Sherlock said with a sigh. “Rather crooked. I’m sure he did his best but clearly braiding is not his forte. Best let me do that from now on.”

Rose’s mouth dropped open. “You mean there’s things My isn’t good at?”

“Don’t sound so astonished Rose. He’s human just like the rest of us,” Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes. “Get your comb so I can fix your hair. I think you might have to make do with a pony tail today or we’re going to be late.” When she returned with her comb, Sherlock undid the crooked braid and put her hair up in a pony.

“Rose, why are you still here?” Mycroft asked as he exited his study.

“Because braiding isn’t your forte,” she responded. “Sherlock says. It was crooked, so he had to fix it. But we’re leaving now. Bye My!” Rose gave him a wave before heading out the door.

Sherlock gave his brother a smug look before following Rose out the door. There was nothing as sweet as showing up Mycroft. This was going to be a brilliant day!


	10. Flora and Fauna Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a self-contained story, but it quickly grew a mind of its own, and oh how it grew! I’ve split it up into two parts. Part two will be up within the next few days. Warning!!—Seriously epic amounts of fluff.

It was springtime. _Finally_. There were months when it felt as though London would never be warm again, or that the little bits of snow they got would melt for the final time. Sherlock couldn’t even begin to imagine how people in other parts of the world managed their winter season: so much snow; warnings for people not to leave their homes or they might lose a finger or nose to frostbite. Whatever had those silly people been thinking when they abandoned England for a new world? And after the first winter, why didn’t they come back? Clearly, they were imbeciles.

But, it was springtime once again! Very much springtime in fact as people shed their heavy coats for light sweaters and flowers were blooming bright and cheerful. Sherlock had plans for this spring, namely to thoroughly educate his 28 month old baby sister about the outdoor world.

Many of his plans revolved around teaching little Rose things and this plan, at least, wasn’t one that would make Mother or Mycroft shout at him. He’d tried to include her in a chemistry experiment recently and just when all the fun bits of it were happening, Mother had come home and screamed about her baby and chemicals and what was he thinking?

Sometimes Mother didn’t understand _anything_.

Mycroft, of course, had to add his own admonishment and as per usual, he did it while cuddling Rose. Sherlock was completely convinced that Mycroft only scolded him while holding the baby so that Sherlock couldn’t yell at him. Yelling made the baby cry and Sherlock didn’t like to see Rose cry, especially if he was the one to upset her.

Even better than the fact that it was springtime, though, was the fact they were having a weekend holiday at their country house. That was the best place to teach Rose about plants and bugs and birds and all those things. Mother had the best garden at the country house too. He could even show Rose which plants she could eat and which ones she couldn’t. It was going to be a great adventure for his baby sister.

If only she didn’t need to sleep so much, then he wouldn’t have to wait until morning!

\---------------------------------------------

“Hmm, don’t you look cheerful,” Mycroft mused as he helped Rose dress for the day.

“Sushine,” Rose told him, pointing at her yellow and white checked dress.

“Yes, you look like sunshine,” he agreed. “Sunshine, don’t forget the ‘n’ poppet,” he responded, giving her a smile.

“Shoe?” Rose wriggled as he buttoned her up in the back where her little arms couldn’t reach.

“Yes, shoes. Definitely shoes,” Mycroft chuckled. “Sit down, I’ll help.” He breathed a sigh of relief when Rose plopped down on the floor. Yesterday she’d insisted on putting her own shoes on, and trying to tie the laces. When she hadn’t succeeded, she’d promptly thrown the shoes at him and was then escorted to the naughty chair for time out.

“You do. Pease?” Rose commented, sticking her foot out in the air. She giggled when he tickled it just a bit before slipping her sneaker on.

“That’s very nice poppet. It’s a lovely girl to be cooperative for me. I appreciate that.”

“Say tay you?”

“Yes, thank you.” He hurriedly tied the laces and put her other shoe on before he scooped her up. Mycroft couldn’t help but smile when she snuggled close, her curly hair brushing against his neck.

“Sh’ock!” Rose screeched when they entered the kitchen and saw her other brother.

“ _No_ Rose,” Mycroft scolded, giving her a serious look. “Inside voice. We’re inside, understand?”

Rose frowned and put her thumb in her mouth.

Sherlock gave Mycroft a nasty look before stealing the baby away, cuddling her close. “Morning Rose,” he whispered.

“Morning Sh’ock,” the little girl murmured. “Hungee. Wan food. Pease?”

“Put her in the highchair Sherlock and I’ll make her some breakfast. Have you eaten?” Mycroft asked. “And have you seen Mother yet?”

“No, I think she’s still in bed. I’ll pass on breakfast,” Sherlock responded as he buckled Rose into her seat.

Minutes later, Rose had toast and banana slices on her plate and was far more interested in smashing the bananas before putting them into her mouth.

“We don’t play with food. You’re making a huge mess. Do you want a bath already?” Mycroft asked, trying desperately to keep her somewhat clean.

“No! No bath! No!” Rose answered. She scowled and shook her head before promptly smashing a banana.

“Then eat like a human being and not like a little monster, if you please!”

“Mycroft you’re no fun at all. Aren’t you glad you have me Rose?” Sherlock asked, giving her a silly grin.

The toddler nodded. “Yes. Love Sh’ock,” she said, blowing him a kiss and flinging mashed banana on the table.

“She loves me more,” Sherlock decided. “Because I’m fun.”

“She’s a toddler and I don’t think she loves anyone more than anyone else. She loves whoever is paying attention to her at the moment, so long as she’s enjoying herself,” Mycroft responded.

“Love e-body,” Rose announced before cramming some toast in her mouth.

“Everybody,” Sherlock correct before sounding it out for her. “Ev-er-e-buddy.”

“Evey-body?”

Sherlock grinned. “You’re such a brilliant girl. Try once more. Ev-er-e-buddy.”

Rose tried to respond but merely spit out toast crumbs instead.

“Rose, really! Have some decorum if you please,” Mycroft requested, shaking his head. When she stared at him, looking completely confused, he started to laugh despite his best efforts. Sometimes it was very hard not to laugh at the things she did!

“Chew first Rose. Then say it again,” Sherlock encouraged. He went so far as to pretend to chew with her, which Rose seemed to enjoy.

Upon swallowing, Rose scrunched up her nose as she concentrated to repeat the word properly. “Everybody,” she said very slowly. “Good?”

The brothers clapped and sang her praises, making Rose squeal in delight and clap along with them.

“Well, what a very lovely way to wake up,” Maud commented as she entered the kitchen. “All my babies playing so nicely together.”

“ _Mother,_ ” Sherlock and Mycroft protested in unison. They were, of course, ignored by Maud, who would always see all of them as her babies, no matter how old they were.

“Mummy!” Rose called. “Banana; I mash.” She smashed another banana, grinning delightedly at her mother before shoving it in her mouth, much to Maud’s amusement.

“For a moment, she was reaching ever closer towards being a civilized human being,” Mycroft grumbled. “Then you go and laugh and say ‘Silly baby’. You’re very unhelpful Mother.”

“She’s just a baby Myc, even you played with your food when you were a toddler,” Maud replied indulgently.

“Hmm. Well, I’m going to work in my study for a while,” he decided.

“Bye My! Bye!” Rose called out, waving her chubby hand at him. She received a smile in return before Mycroft disappeared from the room.

\------------------------------

Three hours later, Mycroft emerged from his study with the headache to end all headaches. Did people actually vote for the imbeciles he was forced to deal with every day? If they did, what precisely did that tell him about the people doing the voting? Nothing good, that’s for certain.

The house was unusually quiet and he found it a bit unnerving. Mycroft was so used to hearing Rose, who tended to be rather boisterous, that it was very odd to not hear her at all.

“Did Rose go down for a nap already?” he asked his mother when he wandered into the kitchen.

Maud shook her head and pointed out the window. Sherlock and Rose were sitting together at the edge of the large kitchen garden, the little girl watching with wide blue eyes as Sherlock animatedly explained something to her.

“They’ve been out there for two hours,” she said with a smile. “He’s teaching her about plants. They’ve tasted some as well.”

“He’s teaching her to eat plants? Is that really a good idea?” Mycroft mused.

“Sherlock knows his way around the kitchen garden just fine. A little mint and lemongrass and such won’t hurt either of them a bit.”

“Did you like that one?” Sherlock asked, watching Rose’s reactions carefully. “I like that one quite a lot. Mother makes tea out of it.”

She nodded and reached for another sample of the plant when something else caught her eye. “Lay-bug,” Rose told her brother pointing to it.

“Yes, that’s a ladybug. Just like you have in your room at home, only smaller and of course more anatomically correct, since that one is real,” Sherlock explained. He watched curiously as Rose reached out her hand and let the ladybug climb on it.

Rose’s other hand picked it up and she brought the bug closer to her mouth. “Eat?”

“It’s an insect,” Sherlock warned. “They don’t taste very well, but if you want to try it, go ahead. This might be your very first experiment Rose! Isn’t that great?”

“’priment,” she echoed before putting the bug in her mouth. Rose took a bite, made a horrible face, spit the bug out and proceeded to cough.

“I did warn you that they don’t taste well, but at least you won’t need to do that again. You have the data now!”

“Icky. Icky Sh’ock,” she whined, wiping at her mouth with her hands.

“Poor baby. I’ll go get you some juice to make the taste go away,” he offered before hurrying inside.

“Teaching her to bugs, little brother?” Mycroft inquired. “That’s a bit pedestrian even for you. Surely there are other things of value you could teach her.”

“She needed the data. Rose was conducting her first experiment,” the thirteen year old replied with all the indignation of a young teenager.

“You will try to avoid poisoning her, I assume?”

“You’re such a git Mycroft! Of course I won’t let her get poisoned! For heaven’s sakes you’re such a drama queen. She’s not just your sister you know!”

“Boys, boys, settle down,” Maud scolded, entering the kitchen once again. “Sherlock, where’s Rose?”

“Outside. I’m bringing her juice,” he explained, holding up a sippy cup.

“Sherlock! You cannot leave her outside by herself!” Maud exclaimed. “Whatever were you thinking?” She raced to the nearest window and struggled not to laugh as she watched Rose rolling around on the lawn. “Go give her the juice and don’t ever leave her alone like that again! She’s just a baby and it’s not safe.”

“She’s not stupid. Rose knows precisely what she’s doing, she’s a very brilliant girl,” Sherlock grumbled as he went back outside. “Rosie! Juice!” he called.

The toddler, stopped mid-roll and looked up at the sound of Sherlock’s voice. Scrambling to her feet, Rose ran over as fast as her little legs could take her, immediately accepting the sippy cup of juice.

Sherlock waited until she finished and took the cup back. “What do you say, Rose? Do you remember?”

“Tay you Sh’ock,” she responded, giving him a bright smile. “I roll, lots fun. Get dirty. Fun! You play too, pease?” Rose grabbed onto his hand and tried to drag him out into the yard again to continue playing.

Back inside the kitchen, Maud smiled as she watched her children roll around in the grass. “They’re so sweet, aren’t they?”

“They’re something. She certainly does love to follow him around,” Mycroft admitted.

“Don’t be jealous Mycroft!” Maud laughed. “She loves her big brother My just as much as she loves Sherlock.”

Mycroft gave his mother a withering look. “I never said a word about being jealous. That would be very dull and ordinary; more Sherlock’s avenue of thinking than mine. Him and his ‘I’m the fun brother.’ Someone’s got to raise her properly and it certainly isn’t him!”

Maud shook her head. “He loves her and that’s the most important part. Leave the raising to you and I. I wish your father could be here to see her. Rose is so much more talkative than when he passed away and it’s only been a few months. I see so much of him in her sometimes.”

Her eldest son nodded, taking a moment before he could respond verbally. “I do as well. In those brief moments of calm, when she’s cuddled up with someone and we’re all around. That little look on her face I can’t even describe, but it reminds me of how peaceful and happy Father always was to just… be. Enjoy the quiet, the family.”

She smiled. “That’s precisely it,” she agreed. “I know you’re not one for sentiment, Mycroft--”

“Then let us skip it,” Mycroft interrupted.

“I appreciate everything you do, Mikey. Before and after your father passed away,” she continued on. “We’re lucky to have you, all of us, even Sherlock.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Mycroft chuckled. “And… you’re welcome. Father made me promise, you know.”

Maud gave him a thoughtful look. “No, I didn’t know. What did he make you promise?”

_Seven Months Prior_

It was a Saturday night and though it was the weekend, there was no resting for Mycroft, or so it seemed to him. He had just finished a call with another world leader, wondering how it was possible that an entire nation deemed that particular man to be its leader. That election, he couldn’t help but think, was entirely fixed.

A knock on his study door shifted his attention and he called for whomever was on the other side to enter.

“I thought you could use some tea,” William Holmes said to his eldest son. “Are you busy?”

“Tea would be excellent, thank you Father,” Mycroft responded, waving the man in. “For the moment I’m not busy and I’m hoping it stays that way. Today’s crisis has been averted at any rate.”

William placed a cup of tea on Mycroft’s desk and took his own cup to a chair. “I want to talk to you about something important,” he said gravely.

His tone was odd, at least to Mycroft’s ears. His father was rarely so grave when he spoke and was typically the most light hearted of the lot of them. Picking up his tea, Mycroft went to sit closer to his father.

“I need you to promise me something,” William began. “I won’t always be around for you children- no, don’t look like that, there’s nothing wrong with me or some sort of data or what have you that you’ve missed. But the truth is, I won’t always be here and while I understand this is a great responsibility, perhaps a burden even, to put upon on your shoulders I’m going to do it.”

For once in his life, Mycroft didn’t snap at his father to just spit it out already and stop being so bloody sentimental. This time, he just listened.

“Promise me that you’ll always take care of my girls. That you’ll keep being such a wonderful stand-in to my princess and that you’ll take care of your mother,” William requested.

“You’re certain there’s nothing I need to be aware of, Father?” Mycroft asked, an eyebrow quirked.

“No, nothing at all. Rose has changed a lot of things; I find myself worrying about things I wouldn’t have in the past, or at least hadn’t fretted over in quite some time, since you and Sherlock are older,” William confessed.

Mycroft nodded, looking thoughtful. “Of course I will, Father. They’ll always be looked after, but it’ll be quite some time before you leave this world, I’m sure. But in any case, just to put your mind at ease, I give you my word that I’ll take care of Mother and Rose.”

“Sherlock too; try and keep him out of trouble.”

“I suppose him too,” Mycroft said with a long-suffering sigh.

“And Mycroft?” William continued. “Try not to let this brilliant job of yours eat away at you. You’re going to have a long, bright career, but it will eat you alive if you don’t find something to be happy about, or look forward to, each day.”

_Present_

“Do you have something, Myc, that you look forward to each day?” Maud asked when her son finished recalling the conversation.

“I already had by that point,” he admitted with a shrug. “Rose is a rather irresistible little thing. I’ve found myself much more attached to her than I’d originally anticipated. There’s days that she’s the only thing in the world that makes sense. Why I, and others, keep this ridiculous world from blowing itself to pieces.”

“Little ones have a way of doing that, make you reevaluate things in that way,” Maud told him with a smile. She turned to look out the window at her little ones once more. “Oh bless. SHERLOCK!” Maud yelled out the window. “There’s no need to create mud puddles for Baby! No, I don’t care if it’s an experiment! Another time, I promise! No! No Rose!”

She and Mycroft watched in sheer exasperation as Rose dived into the nearest mud puddle on her tummy, then rolled over, giggling crazily.

“She’s fine Mother!” Sherlock called. “See? She likes it! Laughter! We’re gathering data!” He promptly picked Rose up, tossed her in the air, caught her, and went into the mud puddle himself.

Rose, already dripping in it, sat on his chest and rubbed her muddy hands on his face. “Data,” she said. “Gooey.” Her attention was ripped away from her brother’s face when she saw something colorful come near them.

“BUFFLY!” she squealed. Rose rolled off Sherlock’s chest, got to her feet, and proceeded to chase the butterfly. “Wan buffly! Sh’ock! Wan buffly! WAN BUFFLY! HERE BUFFLY! BUFFLY!”

Inside the house, Mycroft shook his head at Rose’s screeching and turned away from the window. “Mother, I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long weekend. Let’s hope the house is still standing when it’s over.”

\-----------------------------------

Early that evening, after supper had been made and the dishes, cleaned, the family sat out in the backyard, talking and looking up at the stars as they began appearing in the sky.

“Bye bye sun,” Rose murmured. “Hi moon.” She was already dressed for bed, in a little footed sleeper, snuggled up in Mycroft’s arms. It was one of her favorite places in the whole world!

“My poppet’s had a busy day, haven’t you?” Mycroft asked, smiling as she rested her head on his chest.

“Bee day,” she agreed. “Buffly an mud with Sh’ock. All day.” Rose yawned and struggled to keep her eyes open.

“Aw, is Mummy’s Baby sleepy?” Maud questioned, looking over at her children.

“It’s little wonder with all that running and shouting and fresh air,” Sherlock commented. “That makes anyone her age sleepy. When you aren’t home Mother, Mycroft makes me play her all out of energy.”

Maud chuckled. “Well, that serves a dual purpose, sweetheart. It makes both of you sleepy, which makes it much easier for Myc to watch you both.”

Sherlock looked very disgruntled that Mycroft wasn’t scolded for attempting to run he and Rose ragged behind Mother’s back. He sighed and settled back against his chair. “Bored. I’m bored Mother. Astronomy is unimportant and I want you to know I’ll delete all this from my mind palace promptly.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Sherlock is a silly boy,” he whispered to Rose. “Try to be more like me, hm? I’m the smart one, after all.” Rose merely blinked owlishly at him in response.

“Do you want me to put her to bed, Mikey?”

The eldest Holmes child shook his head. “No, I’ll do it. Say goodnight to Mother and Sherlock Rose,” he prompted the toddler. Rose dutifully waved and blew kisses before closing her eyes once more. “Oh yes, you’re a very tired girl Rose,” he chuckled. There was no way she’d make it for a story, so it was right into bed with her!

“Do you like your new bed?” he asked, tucking Rose into her ‘big girl’ toddler bed. They’d purchased it and brought it with for the weekend, since Sherlock’s toddler bed had long since disappeared. It only made sense to have one at each house for her.

“Big bed. I big,” Rose told him. “Teddy?” She looked around for her beloved bear and smiled when she spotted it on her pillow.

“We put Teddy on your pillow this morning, remember? When we made your bed,” Mycroft reminded her. He plucked it up off her pillow and handed it to her. “Hold Teddy tight and I’ll tuck you under the covers.” He smiled as Rose burrowed under the bed covers when he tried to tuck them around her. “Sleep sweet poppet,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Mycroft kissed her cheek and gave Teddy’s head a pat.

“No! My! No!” the toddler cried out the moment he got up to leave. “Nooooooooooo!”

Her beleaguered brother sighed and sat down beside her bed. “Alright, I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “Nigh-night. Love you.” Within just a few moments, Rose was fast asleep.

\----------------------------

Saturday morning dawned bright and early and everyone in the house was still asleep. Everyone except the littlest Holmes. Leaving her warm bed behind, Rose and Teddy toddled off down the hall and pushed open Mycroft’s bedroom door. Immediately she went to the bed and grunted and groaned and squirmed as she tried to climb up on top of it. Feeling frustrated, Rose threw Teddy on the bed first- managing to promptly smack Mycroft in the face- and with both hands finally made it.

“What--” Mycroft’s exclamation died on his lips as he spotted his baby sister. “Should have known. It’s six in the morning Rose. Can’t you go back to bed and let us sleep?”

“No,” she said seriously, grabbing up Teddy to hold him tight. “I ‘wake. Wan play. Pease, My? Play ouside?”

“Outside. Out. Don’t forget the ‘t’,” Mycroft corrected. “And it’s far too early to play outside. Go bother Sherlock, he’s awake I’m sure. Make him play with you.”

Rose nodded, her shiny black curls bobbing. “Okay.” After Mycroft helped her down from the bed, she toddled out of the room and into Sherlock’s.

“Already Rosie?” Sherlock commented groggily. “I’m still sleeping.”

“Everybody seeping?” Rose asked with a frown. That wasn’t any fun! Didn’t they know the sun was up and it was shining?

“Yes; come on, you can sleep with me,” he offered. With a squeal she tossed Teddy onto the bed and accepted Sherlock’s help getting onto the bed and cuddled close under the covers. Sherlock dutifully kissed her head, and Teddy’s when she shoved the bear in his face, and the duo fell asleep.

\--------------------------------

Despite Rose’s early morning visits, the family enjoyed a leisurely Saturday morning, lounging about until after a late breakfast before they finally dressed for the day.

“I’m going to drive into town dears and get something delicious for our supper,” Maud announced when they’d all assembled once more. “Both of you please watch Rose very closely. Anyone want anything special while I’m out?”

“Cake!” Rose decided, giving her mother a grin. “Wan cake pease!”

“Nice job Mycroft,” Sherlock told his brother. “Going to make her fat too?”

“Oh Sherlock, that’s enough,” Maud scolded, cutting off Mycroft’s response. “Your brother is not overweight and it’s unkind to tease him. Everyone has their favorite food.”

“I don’t,” Sherlock responded. “I don’t have any favorites. Food is really unnecessary. Bodies are merely transport.”

Maud threw up her hands, dismissing the matter, and headed out to the car.

“I need to make some calls for work. I trust you can manage to watch Rose on your own?” Mycroft asked, giving Sherlock a _look_.

“I’m thirteen, of _course_ I can watch her. She’s only two,” the younger boy said, rolling his eyes. “Come on Rosie, we’ll have fun, because I’m the fun brother. Right?”

“Yes! Sh’ock fun!” Rose agreed, toddling after him. When Sherlock stopped, she let him take her hand, and the two headed out into the front yard to play.

“Don’t damage the house, Sherlock Holmes, and God help you if she gets hurt!” Mycroft called after them.

Sherlock threw his brother a scowl. “Shut up!”

“Sh-up!” Rose parroted.

Sherlock looked down at his little sister. “No, that’s not nice to say. You’ll get in trouble if you say it. You shouldn’t copy me so often,” he suggested. It was unlikely she’d listen but at least he could claim to have spoken to her about it!

\---------------------------

As it turned out, however, it wasn’t Mycroft that Sherlock needed to worry about. It was his mother! Two hours later, Maud returned home with the groceries and a few other things she’d picked up and brought the bags into the kitchen. The house was quiet, but she wasn’t overly concerned about it, knowing one of her boys was watching Rose.

Only… they weren’t!

Maud glanced out the window into the backyard and let out a groan. Her two year old was alone, covered in mud, and even appeared to be _eating_ it. “Oh baby! Rose my love, that’s so icky!” Maud called as she hurried outside. “Darling, don’t eat the mud. Whatever are you doing? And where are your brothers?”

“Mud pie, yum. Mummy wan?” she asked, innocently offering a handful of mud to her mother.

The woman sighed heavily, trying to keep exasperation with her middle child out of her tone as she addressed her littlest. “No darling, but that’s very lovely to share. Very good girl,” Maud praised. “But you are also a very messy little girl. You will need a bath and your brother needs a smacking and I cannot be in two places at once.”

Another sigh escaped the woman’s lips as Rose looked up at her, uncomprehending of the situation at large. “MYCROFT! MYCROFT COME INTO THE YARD PLEASE!” she shouted.

Fearing the worst, Mycroft came thundering down the stairs and out into the backyard, where he stopped short a few feet shy of the pile of mud he gathered was one Rosenwyn Holmes. He stared at the toddler before turning to look at his mother. “I have no words,” Mycroft decided.

“I have a few words, but they aren’t for you,” Maud admitted. “Can you attempt to clean Rose off a bit and then give her a bath? Sherlock and I need to have a very serious talk about what it means to supervise the baby.”

Mycroft sighed. “Would you rather I took care of that?”

Maud shook her head. “Oh no, I’ll handle it. He’s going to be a very sorry boy when I get my hands on him!”

“What’s all the shouting?” the teenager in question asked, arriving on the scene. He was covered in netting and some sort of odd suit that Maud couldn’t quite place.

“I was trying to catch some bees and part of their honeycomb so that we could raise some bees! There’s everything still from when Father and I did that last summer. Wouldn’t that be wonderful for Rose? She won’t even need to go to school, wait and see Mother, she’ll be at Oxford or somewhere or another before she’s even ten!”

Sherlock looked and sounded so excited about the whole thing that for just a brief second, it was difficult for Maud to be angry with him. Nor did she miss his idea of allowing Rose to skip school, which spoke volumes about how miserable Sherlock himself was at his own, despite the fact he no longer resided at the school itself.

“Bee? Wan bee Sh’ock, wan see bee,” Rose decided, struggling to get up out of her personal mudbath.

That was just the reminder Maud needed to keep her displeasure at Sherlock in mind. “William Sherlock Scott Holmes! Did we not just talk about this yesterday? I very clearly recall that I told you not to leave Rose in the yard alone. It’s too dangerous, she could leave the yard and wander into the woods or into the road and be run over. There’s a million different things that could happen and she could be terribly, terribly hurt!”

The teenager sighed heavily and shook his head. “You worry incessantly for no reason at all. I talked with Rose and we came to an understanding. She knows she can’t leave the yard and I wasn’t all that far away. I would have heard her if she’d cried out or something. _Must_ you be so dramatic Mother?”

That right there was as much as she was going to take of her son’s sass. Maud closed the distance between them, took a firm hold of one arm, raised her hand and brought it down sharply across the seat of his trousers.

“ _Mother!_ ” Sherlock exclaimed, looking completely scandalized.

“Don’t you Mother me young man. You are in very serious trouble and we are going to have a very serious talk about it inside, in your room,” Maud told him. “March yourself upstairs this very minute!”

“I’m too old to spank Mother, truly. It’s too juvenile and again, I think you’re overreacting it’s—OW!” Sherlock howled as he was smacked again. “Nooooo Mother don’t pull my ear! Ow that hurts!” he whined as Maud escorted him back into the house, leaving Mycroft to deal with the mud covered toddler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s where we chant “Sherlock’s gonna get it! Sherlock’s gonna get it!”


	11. Flora and Fauna Part II

_“Don’t you Mother me young man. You are in very serious trouble and we are going to have a very serious talk about it inside, in your room,” Maud told him. “March yourself upstairs this very minute!”_

_“I’m too old to spank Mother, truly. It’s too juvenile and again, I think you’re overreacting it’s—OW!” Sherlock howled as he was smacked again. “Nooooo Mother don’t pull my ear! Ow that hurts!” he whined as Maud escorted him back into the house, leaving Mycroft to deal with the mud covered toddler._

\-------------------------------

“You, my dear, are most definitely a Holmes,” Mycroft told his sister with a sigh. “When you do something, you do it very thoroughly.”

“Mummy? Where Mummy go? Sh’ock yell,” Rose said, looking at up him with the most adorable mud-streaked face. “Why?”

“Oh, are we entering that stage now?”

“Stay?” the little girl repeated. “What stay?”

“Stage. With a ‘g’,” her brother corrected. “Never mind about that now, and don’t worry about Sherlock either. He’s getting precisely what he deserves for being an utter fool.”

Rose scrunched up her nose. “Foo? F-O-O-L,” she said, sounding it out. When it made just the right sound to her ears, she clapped her hands, spattering mud onto the grass.

“There’s nothing for it, I’ll have to hose you down. It’ll be cold, but I’ll be gentle with it. You can’t go into the house like this,” Mycroft decided. “Stay right where you are poppet.”

While one little Holmes was soon squealing with delight as she was hosed off, another Holmes inside the house was making similar noises, but his were most definitely those of displeasure.

“Mother! Mother! No!” Sherlock protested as he was led by his ear all the way upstairs and into his room.

“Yes, Sherlock, _yes._ Rose could have been very hurt. Being a big brother comes with responsibilities, and if you cannot watch her sufficiently, you must tell us. You cannot be supervising her when you’re nowhere near her. She’s just a baby and cannot be alone like that. She doesn’t know what is safe and what isn’t yet, and _that_ ,young man, is why you are getting a soundly smacked bottom!”

Finishing her lecture, Maud sat on Sherlock’s bed and gave him an expectant look. “Trousers and pants down; quickly now. Down and over my knee.”

“Mother, let’s be reasonable about this,” Sherlock requested, his hands going behind him to protect his backside.

“Oh, I’m being quite reasonable, I promise you,” she responded. “I doubt it escaped your notice that we did not make a detour into my room for the hairbrush. Would you like me to get it now, or are you going to do as you’re told and I’ll use my hand?”

“That is very reasonable,” Sherlock decided. He quickly bared his behind, his face turning a bit red, and went across his mother’s knees.

Maud adjusted Sherlock so that his bottom was properly in position for spanking. With his upper torso resting on the bed, he’d be reasonably comfortable- or rather, part of him would be. She wrapped an arm around his waist and raised her right hand, bringing it down with a firm _smack_ to the middle of his right cheek. Her hand fell again in that same spot another five times, just enough to make Sherlock begin wiggling, before she moved to the matching spot on his left cheek.

Mother was thorough spanker, Sherlock knew, and if this was the beginning, he was really in for it! Considering it was his mother, he didn’t feel the need to hold back his displeasure at being spanked, the way he did when it was Mycroft administering the discipline. A young boy had to have his pride!

Despite Sherlock’s slight shifting and wiggling in response to the building sting, and the odd “Ow!” or grunt of pain, Maud was quite proud of how well her son was taking his spanking. It wasn’t easy for a thirteen year old boy to submit to such juvenile discipline from his mother.

His cheeks were a smarting pink, from crest to sit spots. Up and down her hand rose and fell again and again, setting his poor bum on fire. Sherlock squirmed and yelled when she ratcheted up the strength and speed behind the spanks. “Ow! Mother! Ow! Ouch!” He kicked and yelled and it never made her stop, but Sherlock couldn’t ever seem to keep himself from doing it either.

“I know it hurts Sherlock, but think about Rose. Think about how you’d feel if she’d been really hurt while you were supposed to watch her? You’d feel terrible, I know you would, because you love her. You have to remember, despite your enthusiasm to teach her things, she’s only two and still learning,” Maud lectured. After the bit of lecturing, Maud fell silent, letting her hand do all the talking.

 _Wasn’t it over yet?!,_ Sherlock thought desperately. “Mummy! Please Mummy! I’m sorry!” He was kicking furiously now, his hands holding tight to the duvet. His bum was hot and stinging and so very sore. He wouldn’t sit for _ages!_

Knowing they were just about finished, Maud began targeting Sherlock’s sit spots and upper thighs. “ _Supervise_ means you _stay with Rose_ ,” she lectured, emphasizing certain words with sharp smacks. “If you _cannot_ manage that, _you will not_ be allowed to watch her _anymore_. The _safety_ of _everyone_ in this family _is not negotiable_. There are _no_ exceptions to that. Not for Mycroft, you or Rose. Do you understand?”

Rather than answer verbally, Sherlock let out a distressed wail and ceased his kicking and squirming. The spanking stopped at once and Maud’s hand, so good at smacking naughty bottoms, did something else it was very good at—soothing her baby.

“There, there, Sherlock,” she soothed, rubbing his back with her hand. “You’re such a smart boy and I know we’ll never need to talk about this again. You were very brave for your spanking Sherlock; Mummy’s brave boy.” After a bit of soothing, she carefully returned Sherlock’s clothing to its proper place and promptly turned him over for a cuddle. In Maud’s book, discipline and love went hand in hand and to do one without the other wasn’t right.

Despite being a boy of thirteen, Sherlock practically melted against his mother when she hugged him tightly. He’d never admit it to another soul ever, not even Rose, but Sherlock needed these cuddles and soaked them up from his mother every time. No one cuddled better than his mummy and she never judged him for crying on her shoulder after a spanking. Mycroft _never_ cuddled and he was probably rubbish at it anyway!

Maud continued to soothe and rock her son in his arms, letting him cry out all his tears, telling him how much she loved him in that soft, soothing tone. “That’s my good boy,” she whispered. “Mummy loves you. It’s alright now. Everything is forgiven, I promise.”

Mother and son stayed like that for what seemed like quite some time, until Sherlock was nearly asleep in Maud’s arms. She deftly moved him a bit and stood, pulling back the bed clothes, and tucked him up snuggly in his bed for a nap. Once he was tucked in, she sat beside him and ran her fingers through his wild curls until he was fast asleep.

\--------------------------------

While Maud and Sherlock had a ‘talk’ in their mother’s room, Mycroft was dealing with his own issue in the bathroom, namely bathing one very messy little Holmes. Having hosed her off outside, Mycroft carried her into the house, grimacing as mud still managed to smear on his tweed country attire; Sherlock would _definitely_ be paying for the dry-cleaning!

Once he’d corralled Rose in the bathroom, Mycroft turned on the tap, adjusting the water to the right temperature and let the tub begin to fill. When Rose demanded bubbles he acquiesced, adding his mother’s lavender bubbly concoction to the water, unable to suppress a smile when Rose grinned excitedly.

“Why is it you never want a bath except when you get bubbles?” he asked, looking down at the toddler. “What is so fascinating about the bubbles? A bath is still a bath.”

Rose didn’t give him much of an answer, babbling about Mummy and bubbles and pretty smells as Mycroft shut off the water and proceeded to undress her. He plopped her into the tub, grimacing as she splashed him.

“Now look here Rosenwyn. This is _your_ bath, not mine. You are the one that gets wet and gets washed, not me. I just do the washing, understand?”

“Un-stan,” she agreed. Then splashed him again.

“Rose, no!” He rolled his eyes when she merely giggled in response.

“This is not going to work. We’re getting you washed up and then you’re coming right out. I don’t want to be splashed so no playtime, just your silly bubbles,” he decided. He stood up and retrieved a flannel from the cupboard, putting it into the water until it was good and soapy.

“Good god, how can you possibly be so dirty?” Mycroft wondered aloud as he began to scrub up the baby. “It’s everywhere and after I hosed you down and everything! Must be a special talent of yours, Rose. What do you think of that?”

“Goo-god!” she echoed. Her smile turned into a frown once he took hold of an arm and tried to wash it off. “No! No! Noooooo! Wan play!” Rose hollered, trying to extract her arm from his gentle hold on it.

“You sound as if you’re being murdered and no one in the history of the world has died from being bathed, I assure you. Besides, I already said we weren’t playing, because you were splashing. I don’t like being splashed, it’s not nice,” Mycroft tried to explain patiently. At times the amount of patience he was able to muster for Rose was rather astounding.

Rose’s protests stopped and she looked at him for a moment, as if thinking very hard about his words. Her big brother didn’t waste the opportunity and continued to scrub away the layers of caked-on mud, revealing the tiny arm beneath them. “Nah nice. ‘pashing nah nice?” she finally asked.

Mycroft took a second to bask in his pleasure at how quickly she picked up words and phrases, which she appeared to understand. “Close. Not. N-o-t is how you say it. Not nice. The other word is splashing; sp-lash-ing.” He sounded the words out for her a few times.

The toddler tried once more. “Spashing not nice?”

It was good enough for now, so Mycroft didn’t correct her pronounciation again. “That’s right. I don’t like it when you splash me, it makes me sad, because I don’t want to be wet.” My god, I sound like an idiot, he couldn’t help but think. Splashing made him sad indeed! It was worth it though, when he heard her response.

“Sorry, My. Love you,” Rose said in a tiny voice, looking up at him sadly. “No spashing.”

It was unbelievably unfair that she was such a sweet little monster. It almost, _almost,_ made him feel badly for having scolded her. “That’s a _very,_ very good girl Rose. _Such_ a good girl to say sorry!” Mycroft praised, giving her a smile. “It’s alright, I forgive you. Thank you for saying sorry.” When her face lit up at his praise, Mycroft tickled her tummy just a bit before returning to the task at hand.

Before long, and with minimal splashing, Rose was clean and smelling of lavender as he lifted her from the tub. She was dripping from head to toe and Mycroft hurried to dry her off before she became chilled. A knock on the door disturbed his work and he looked up as Maud opened the door.

“How is it- oh goodness! Is that my baby? No more nasty mud, just baby?” Maud asked, giving her little girl a smile.

“Yes!” Rose answered. She seized the opportunity for escape and wriggled out of the towel and squeezed past her mother before Maud could even react.

Mycroft groaned loudly. “Thank you Mother, so very much.” He got up from the floor and shot past his mother, towel in hand, trying to catch the naked toddler. “Rose! Rose, stop right where you are!” he called sternly. “Stop!”

Rose skidded to a stop at the end of the hallway, finding every door closed with the knobs much too high for her to reach. She immediately turned around and ran back the way she’d came, letting Mycroft catch her up in the towel, giggling as he bounced her a bit.

“You’re a ridiculous girl Rose,” he murmured, holding her against his chest.

“It’s nap time, but I’m not certain she’ll be able to rest after all the excitement,” Maud admitted. “Should Mummy take you to get dressed Rose? Then we could have a nap together in Mummy’s big bed! Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Mycroft looked at his mother with concern. She looked exhausted and he was certain she had yet another migraine. “I may not agree with her propensity for streaking about the house, but we’re fine,” he said quietly. “You should rest, before it gets any worse. I’ll get her dressed and she can play in the study with me. You know how she is; when she’s tired, she’ll pass out anywhere, bed or no bed.”

Maud sighed heavily, knowing her eldest son was right but feeling guilty all the same. “Sometimes I think I ask far too much of you Myc.”

“Of course not,” Mycroft responded, hoping to cut off the spewing of sentiment before it picked up steam. “We’re fine. Mother can go to sleep because we’re just fine, aren’t we poppet?” He looked down at her, smiling when Rose gave him a bright grin.

“Mummy go sleep. Night-night,” Rose said, blowing Maud a kiss.

“Be a lovely girl for Mycroft, hm?” Maud requested before kissing her baby. She gave Mycroft a look of thanks and disappeared into her bedroom.

_\-----------------------------------_

An hour later, Mycroft looked up from his laptop to find his sister fast asleep on the floor of the study. She still held a crayon in one hand, her head resting on the coloring book, her curls framing her pretty face. God, she looked cherubic like that, he couldn’t help but think. If anything ever happened to her… Mycroft shook his head, as if shaking the thought out of it.

He stood and crossed the room to pick her up, tickled pink to find that even in sleep she cuddled up with him. Was there ever a sweeter little girl in the whole world? Probably not. After all, Holmeses never did things half way! He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before tucking her in on the small sofa in the study, making certain he wrapped her up warmly in the blanket. Then, with a smile, Mycroft returned to his desk and his seemingly never-ending job.

_\--------------------------------------_

Three weeks later the Holmes family made another weekend trip to the country house. Maud’s health hadn’t been the best since their last trip and believing that the fresh country air and some time resting would be good for her, Mycroft had encouraged this second trip. He had not, however, been able to leave the city as early as he liked, so Maud, Sherlock and Rose had gone on ahead and he would join them as soon as he could.

“Mother, you should rest,” Sherlock commented when they arrived. “You look so tired. I’ll take care of Rose. Get her unpacked and all that. Want me to make you some tea?” He picked up Rose, whose was bounding about the entry way and settled her on his hip, quietly shushing her for a moment. Sherlock was thrilled when she merely cuddled up to him and listened while the ‘grown ups’ spoke.

“If you’re sure, love. Rose is so energetic and forever getting into things. Are you certain you can manage on your own?” Maud asked worriedly.

“I’m sure. Go on, or Mycroft will be cross with you whenever he gets here. He told me to make certain you weren’t too worn out. If only you’d have let me drive!”

Maud chuckled and leaned over to kiss her boy’s curly head. “Darling, you aren’t even licensed. I know you think it’s all about mechanics and motion and combustion and all those good elements- and you’re correct- but not until you’ve taken the proper courses and been licensed. I’m grateful for your offer though, Sherlock, really.”

She took Rose from him and cuddled her close. “Mummy is going to go rest my love. Play nicely with Sherlock and try not to be too much trouble, alright?”

Rose nodded, her curls bouncing from the movement, and she gave her mother a big wet kiss on the cheek. “Love Mummy,” she murmured.

“I love you too,” Maud assured the little girl before setting her down. “Come get me if you need me Sherlock.” She disappeared upstairs and into her bedroom, more than ready for some rest.

After unpacking their clothes and Rose’s toys for the weekend, Sherlock set his little sister up with a movie in the sitting room. He let her pick it out and wasn’t at all surprised when she picked Cinderella. Sherlock was certain Rose had watched it at least 100 times, thus the reason for having a copy here as well as at home. He really ought to keep track better, but there were generally other, more interesting experiments to do.

 _“_ I’m going to tuck you up on the couch Rose, with Teddy, and you can watch Cinderella,” Sherlock explained as he wrapped her up in a blanket on the couch. “You stay here and watch. I’m going to work in the kitchen.”

“Work? What Sh’ock do? I help!” Rose volunteered, grinning brightly at him.

“You can help by staying right here and watching with Teddy,” he quickly reassured her. “I’ll call you when I need more help. How’s that sound?” When Rose gave her approval of that idea, he ruffled her curly hair, making her giggle, and turned on the film before leaving the room.

By the time Rose’s film ended, Sherlock was hard at work in the kitchen, trying an experiment with battery acid he’d been planning since their last trip. He was so engrossed in his work that he didn’t notice the time passing, nor Rose coming into the kitchen and promptly escaping out the open door into the yard. He’d opened the door to assist in ridding some fumes, never once thinking that Rose might slip right past him without even noticing.

Rose was free! She ran out into the yard in her bare feet, giggling as the green grass tickled her toes. That was her very favorite way to play outside so she could feel everything she came across! There weren’t any mud puddles today but that was just fine because the yard was full of animals, some happier to see her than others.

She plopped down in the grass and watched in awe as baby bunnies followed their mother to the garden and began nibbling on all the tasty plants they could find. Rose only managed to sit still for a moment before she got up and approached the fuzzy rabbits. “Bunny! Bunny! No go bunny!” she cried out when they scurried away. “Wan play bunny!”

It quickly became apparent over the next few hours that none of the animals to be found in the yard wanted to play with her! Rose chased the bunnies and the butterflies and the birds. They looked so pretty and were so close she could almost touch them, but she never could! Despite her lack of opportunity to pet the wildlife, she had a grand time chasing them around.

One animal, however, did not intend to make her acquaintance or even be noticed by her, and was taken by surprise as the tiny human moved closer to the bush in which it was hiding.

As the animal remained hidden and Rose continued to toddle closer to it, Mycroft finally made his arrival. Parking his car in the drive, he retrieved his suitcase and briefcase before heading inside. The house was unusually quiet and Mycroft immediately noticed that the television was on in the sitting room with no one to watch the DVD still in the player.

“Sherlock, where’s Rose?” he immediately asked.

 _“_ She’s watching Cinderella again,” Sherlock called back. “Mother’s napping.”

Mycroft dropped his things there in the entry way and went into the sitting room. There was no toddler to be found and he headed straight for the kitchen, looking anything but pleased. “She is not in the sitting room Sherlock. Where did she go? Haven’t we gone over this and over--”

His voice trailed off as he looked out into the yard and watched in horror as a fox emerged from a bush and began creeping ever closer to the baby, who was presenting picking flowers, completely oblivious to the approaching animal. “Oh my god.”

Mycroft was out the door like a shot with Sherlock close behind him. It was then Sherlock saw the danger of the situation, frozen in place as Mycroft hollered and scared the fox away, frightening Rose in the process, who promptly burst into tears.

The eldest Holmes scooped up his sister and hugged her as tightly as he dared, feeling his heartbeat return to normal now that she was out of danger. “Shh, it’s alright Rose. I’m sorry I frightened you. I didn’t mean to do that and I’m very sorry,” he shushed her gently, swaying a bit with her in his arms. When her tears subsided and he’d dried her face with his handkerchief, Mycroft headed back towards the house. “You stay right where you are Sherlock,” he hissed as he passed by his brother with the baby. He promptly carried her upstairs, woke Maud, and left Rose in her capable care.

Sherlock was standing right where he’d been told to stay, unable, really, to move if he’d wanted to. That… he had not seen coming. It was the yard, it was safe. How’d she gotten out? How had he not heard her? What if Mycroft hadn’t come when he did?

His concern over Rose quickly turned to sheer panic as Mycroft advanced on him. This was very, very bad. Mycroft was going absolutely kill him, and self-preservation overrode everything else as he scrambled to talk himself out of trouble. “I didn’t mean it! I didn’t put her outside, I didn’t! Not this time, I swear!”

“You expect me to believe that? After the last time?” Mycroft growled. “How could you do that Sherlock? We’re supposed to keep her safe! That’s our responsibility! She is a toddler and they toddle, hence the name. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!”

“She must have gone out the door! I didn’t hear her, I didn’t know! Mycroft, I’m so sorry, I was working and…” Sherlock stopped talking as it dawned on him that he wasn’t helping himself.

“So you were here, deliberately not paying attention, absorbed in your ridiculous experiments and she just walked outside without you seeing it? Is that really your defense, that this is somehow _better_?!” the eldest Holmes thundered.

Sherlock blanched. “Technically…” he said very slowly.

“Don’t be smart Sherlock. _I’m_ the smart one,” Mycroft ground out. “And clearly the very much smarter one if the smacking from Mother didn’t make this point absolutely clear to you already! Trust me, little boy, I am going to make it _oh_ so very clear that you won’t forget it for the rest of your life!”

“But she did! She did. I promise she did! You don’t have to!” Sherlock protested, knowing already that Mycroft was going to wallop the daylights out of him just by the firm way his elder brother grabbed his arm and hauled him back into the house. Mycroft was so much meaner than Mummy was in just about every way possible.

“Mycroft! Be reasonable!” He yanked hard, trying to get his arm out of Mycroft’s grasp. His efforts proved, unfortunately for him, quite worthless.

“Sometimes you are a very thoughtless and stupid little boy,” Mycroft growled, stopping to land an almighty swat to his brother’s clothed behind. He expected an immediate refute of such charges or at the very least a yelp or curse in response to the smack. Instead, all he got was a little sniffle. A _sniffle_?

Sherlock was filled with righteous indignation as Mycroft manhandled him towards the study, then was taken by surprise when instead of responding to Mycroft’s words- words they often threw around at one another- with a heated retort, he went silent. That was curiously odd. He was still pondering just how odd that was when Mycroft smacked his bottom, causing Sherlock to bite his lip and begin sniffling.

How very, very odd, the boy decided. Then, quite suddenly, just as Mycroft practically shoved him into the study, it dawned on Sherlock what was so very odd: he _felt_ guilty. He felt, for the first time, that his brother’s go-to scolding phrase was true. He _had_ been thoughtless and stupid and because of that, Rose could have been seriously hurt.

The continuation of sniffling as Mycroft escorted his brother into the study and firmly shut the door behind them was puzzling. Sherlock never sniffled like that, or at least not until he’d been soundly spanked. One good smack wasn’t likely to get such a dramatic reaction from him. What in the world was going on?

Suddenly it hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks: Sherlock wasn’t reacting to the smack or his impending spanking, the young teen felt badly for putting Rose in danger. Mycroft had never questioned his brother’s affection for their endearing little sister, but this was still a surprising development from the boy who, just three weeks ago, had been spanked for essentially same thing by their mother.

He rounded on his younger brother, fully intending to continue shouting at him when he saw the look on Sherlock’s face. The young teen looked absolutely devastated, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

The severity of the situation having slammed into Sherlock was making it difficult to control his emotions. If Mycroft hadn’t come, Rose could have been attacked by that fox. A fox wouldn’t bother an adult, but a little kid? Rose was hardly a threat to anyone, let alone a fox.

“I’m a horrible brother,” Sherlock whispered. “The _most_ horrible brother. She could… could have… could have been attacked and hurt and it would have been all my fault.” With every word he spoke it was harder and harder to keep from crying.

Despite himself, Mycroft softened just a bit when he saw Sherlock’s genuine regret. It made him rethink how hard he intended to be on his brother. As brilliant as he was, sometimes Sherlock just didn’t see the whole picture, particularly when it came to Rose. He’d always been so convinced that they were too fussy and too protective of her, and thus stifling her intelligence, that he’d never really sat and thought through their concerns. Now his brother was coming to realize their concerns were very much real and no matter how smart Rose was, she was still just a tiny, defenseless toddler.

Sherlock could see it all in his mind’s eye, the fox attacking Rose, scarring her for life if not killing her. He hadn’t noticed her leave, he hadn’t tried to notice her leave, he’d assumed she was still watching her idiotic film. He’d been too consumed with his own work to stop and _think_ about her. He took a deep, shuddering breath and turned away from Mycroft as tears began falling quietly from his eyes.

Damn it, Mycroft thought to himself. He’d _have_ to offer Sherlock some sort of brotherly wisdom and comfort, no matter how uncomfortable that made him. They just didn’t do that, he and Sherlock; while he cared about his brother, it wasn’t something he generally expressed.

He reached out and squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder gently. “You’re not a horrible brother, Sherlock.

You’re still learning how to be a big brother and it takes a while to figure out how it’s done. I’m a much better brother to Rose than I was to you at that age,” Mycroft admitted. “I probably would have let the fox eat you.”

Sherlock’s stopped sniffling and turned to face his brother. “You’re really awful, you know that?” he grumbled in an almost affectionate sort of way.

The corners of Mycroft’s mouth twitched. “I know; I do try. Don’t think I’m kidding either because I really wanted a dog. The fox would have been doing me a favor.”

The younger Holmes stared up at his brother for a moment, trying to decide if Mycroft was kidding or not.

“In all honesty, Sherlock, you’ve done very well being a big brother. Rose clearly adores you and your excitement in teaching her things is wonderful, so you’re well on your way to being a fantastic big brother. Just remember that one of the most important aspects of it is protecting her. That’s part of our job, a very large portion of it in fact. She needs us to do that.”

Sherlock nodded solemnly. “I’m really sorry. I put her in danger and its unforgivable, I know,” he said quietly. “But I promise it will never, ever happen again.”

Mycroft nodded. “I appreciate your apologies…” He paused for effect and then continued on. “However, you’re still getting a spanking.”

“What? Why?!” Sherlock exclaimed. “I learned my lesson Mycroft! I did!”

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. “And I’m _so_ happy for you,” he quipped sarcastically. “However, I’m going to reinforce your lesson by giving you a sore reminder that will assist you in thinking twice before ever letting her out of your sight again.”

Sherlock’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he gave Mycroft a very epic pout. “You’re _so_ much meaner than Mummy.”

An eyebrow quirked. “Indubitably,” Mycroft responded. “However, that is neither here nor there. Your fate has been sealed, so I suggest you accept it and skip the strop. Trousers and pants down Sherlock, and then you can either go over my knee or you can bend over the desk.”

The teen looked completely outraged. “Trousers _and_ pants?!”

“Is there something wrong with your hearing, brother mine? Yes, trousers and pants. In case you’ve forgotten since the last time I smacked you, I don’t give baby spankings over clothes. Do it, and do it now Sherlock, or I’ll do it for you and I promise you’ll be very, _very_ sorry if I have to do that.”

With a huff, Sherlock unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers before pushing them and his pants down to his knees. Blushing bright red, he bent over the desk and gave Mycroft a look that was half-pout half-glare. “Well. Get on with it then,” he grumbled.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and retrieved a ruler from a drawer in the desk. He stood up and moved to Sherlock’s side, briefly placing a hand on the small of his brothers back.

“How many?”

“Haven’t decided yet. When you start howling, I’ll know,” he said, more to irritate Sherlock than anything else.

Before Sherlock could even utter a suitable response to that, the ruler fell across the center of his bum, _hard._ He winced, unprepared for the sting, but kept silent. In fact, he was determined to remain as quiet as possibly, not wanting to give Mycroft the satisfaction of making him cry.

Mycroft, well used to Sherlock’s attempts at stoicism, paid him no mind as he methodically brought the ruler down across the crest of the boy’s cheeks and worked his way down. The ruler left sore, red stripes in its wake.

By the time Mycroft had smacked him a dozen times with that dratted ruler, Sherlock was sniffling despite himself. Each smack was like a line of fire across his bum and the accumulated effect of many smacks was becoming very uncomfortable.

Satisfied for now with the shade of Sherlock’s bottom, Mycroft turned his attention to the boy’s sit spots and upper thighs. He cracked the ruler down _hard_ multiple times, intending to make his displeasure very clearly known with that ruler. “Rose is a responsibility, _our_ responsibility,” he began lecturing. “If you agree to watch her, you must do it, or she could get hurt. You’d never forgive yourself if your carelessness got her injured.”

“Ow! Mycroft! Ow! OW! Nooooo! Not there!” Sherlock howled, barely able to hear the lecture over the sound of his own protests. The ruler on his upper thighs was sheer _hell_ and he began to wonder if he’d even survive this spanking.

The eldest Holmes ignored his little brother’s protests and moved the ruler back up to his bottom, working his way from crest to crease once again. Just as the ruler smacked across Sherlock’s sit spots another time, the teen began to sob. Feeling as if the point had been well made, Mycroft put the ruler down and patted Sherlock’s back in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

“Alright, we’re done. I know it’s very sore but you’ll be alright. I wouldn’t actually hurt you, you know,” he commented. “When you’re ready you can get up and fix your clothing.” He gave Sherlock’s back one more pat before moving away to return the ruler to its spot in the desk drawer.

Sherlock pulled his pants and trousers back up, continuing to cry. “What if I can’t do it?” he asked through his tears. “What if I can’t protect her Mycroft? What if I fail?”

Despite himself, Mycroft reached out once more and squeezed the teen’s shoulder. “Just do your very best. That’s all anyone can ask of you. That’s all _I_ will ask from you.”

“Can I go? Are we done?” Sherlock asked. When Mycroft nodded, confirming they were finished, he hurried out of the office and shut the door behind him. Only then did he reach back and rub his bum gently. It felt like he wasn’t going to sit comfortably for days!

Not in the mood to resume his experiment just now, Sherlock headed upstairs to his room, intending to lick his wounds in private. Mycroft was such a git! Once inside his room, he shed his trousers and crawled under the duvet, intending to rest and try to clear his head.

A few minutes later, just as he was getting comfy, something smacked his face. Opening his eyes, Sherlock saw it was Teddy, who was followed by Rose. The baby grinned proudly at having got up on the bed. “Wan play?” she asked.

Sherlock shook his head. “No Baby, I’m tired,” he admitted in a whisper. “Want to have a cuddle?”

Never one to turn away a cuddle, Rose grinned delightedly at the idea. Sherlock lifted the duvet and Rose got underneath and snuggled up against him. “I love you, you know,” Sherlock whispered to his sister. “So much. I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you, I promise.” He wrapped an arm around her protectively and kissed her cheek.

An hour later, Maud carefully opened Sherlock’s door and peeked inside the room. Sherlock and Rose were sound asleep, her little boy holding the baby close. They were positively adorable and she hurried to find a camera, determined to capture this moment of sweetness for all eternity.


	12. When Scathingly Brilliant Plans Go Wrong

It was the battle of the century; or at least that’s how it felt to Rose. The battle between her intelligence and his, which had started two weeks ago when the teacher Rose liked and referred to as the ‘real’ teacher, Mrs. Allen, had gone on doctor ordered bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy. Mrs. Allen had promptly been replaced by substitute-come-permanent Mr. Reynolds.

Mrs. Allen, having been warned about Rose’s intelligence and her issues with boredom and bullies by Rose’s teacher from the year before, was well prepared for her very bright and demanding student. In fact, Mrs. Allen had taken quite a shine to her. Rose was a good girl, so long as one knew how to interact with her and encourage, rather than discourage, her natural inquisitiveness. The two had got on very well together and it had been a huge blow for Rose when Mr. Reynolds took over the classroom. Though Mrs. Allen had left him copious notes on anything and everything, particularly in regards to Rose Holmes, Mr. Reynolds had dismissed it all outright.

Mr. Reynolds did not find Rose sweet or endearing, did not understand how to deal with her in general, and most definitely did not like being corrected by her. Had he followed Mrs. Allen’s suggestions, they would have got on better, but Mr. Reynolds was very ‘old school’ and demanded a level of respect from his students that Rose seemed chronically incapable of managing. School days had become a trial for them both, each growing unhappier with the other by the day.

“Rose, it’s impolite to speak to your elders in such a fashion.”

“Rose, are you paying attention? This is learning time, not daydreaming time/coloring time/sulking time.”

“You cannot possibly be correct. You are _seven_ and I am your teacher. Keep your outrageous nonsense to yourself.”

“Writing ‘I am bored’ on the board is not the proper answer to this mathematics question; return to your desk at once.”                                                                                                                                                                                   

Slowly but surely privileges began being taken away and punishments given in their place. Her special pass to the library that Mrs. Allen had arranged just for her so she could work on additional projects, was revoked. She was assigned hundreds and hundreds of ridiculous lines to write in what Rose was certain was a bid to murder her by boredom.

Other times she’d be sent to sit in the hallway until Mr. Reynolds felt she’d learnt her lesson. Recess time began disappearing until Rose was no longer allowed more than five minutes a day and those few precious moments were generally spent clinging to Louise like some sort of life line. The fact that they were no longer in the same classroom, since Rose had skipped ahead, made Rose feel only that much more isolated.

Rose had begged, pleaded, stropped, sobbed, done everything she could think of to get Mycroft to intervene on her behalf. _“You’re so dramatic,”_ he’d scolded. _“Mrs. Allen assured me that she left instructions for him on how to better structure your day within the classroom. Give him a little while to adjust to things. In the mean time, be on your best behavior. I’ll be very displeased if I receive any letters or calls that you’ve been naughty merely because you want Mrs. Allen back.”_

Her discontent was building to the point where Rose no longer cared much if she got into trouble. Maybe, if she did, Mycroft would listen to her and _have_ to do something about the situation. Something would most definitely have to change, even if she had to precipitate that change all on her own.

The opportunity to force such a change arrived very suddenly in front of her. Rose, being a Holmes, had eleven different ideas of how to conduct this campaign to get Mycroft’s attention and focus it on the issue with her teacher. One option, however, had simply landed right in her lap, being the twelfth idea.

They’d begun a lesson of some ridiculously stupid name about twenty minutes prior. A boring book with a boringly named author and a dull plot line was being read bit by bit by everyone in the class. Things went in an orderly fashion, up and down each row with each child getting a turn to read aloud. When her turn was nearing, this said twelfth idea, one which was a scathingly brilliant idea, practically exploded in her head and its entirety worked out in just a few minutes.

“Rose, it’s your turn now. Please pick up with the last paragraph on page twenty-nine and continue until I tell you to stop,” Mr. Reynolds instructed.

Rose picked up her copy of the book, the wheels of her mind turning as she began to read the passage in a language that was most definitely not English. It was, in fact, Israeli, but Mr. Reynolds didn’t know that.

“Speaking gibberish isn’t an acceptable way to complete your reading, Rose,” he said very sternly. “Please begin again.”

“It’s not gibberish, its Israeli, and the Israeli people would be very offended if they knew you thought their language gibberish,” Rose responded in an even tone.

Mr. Reynold’s face flushed with embarrassment as the other students tittered at her comments. “That’s enough. Begin reading again and not in Israeli.”

Taking a deep breath, Rose began to read again, her mind seeing the English word, instantly translating it to read aloud in French at lightning speed.

Mr. Reynolds gaped at her for a moment before responding. “Stop that at once!”

“What?” Rose asked, scowling at the man. “You said begin again and not in Israeli. That was French. Parlez-vous Francais? Sprechen sie Deutsch? Parli Italiano? Mluvite cesky? Nem beszel magyarul? I can keep going until you find a language you like, Mr. Reynolds. I can speak relatively fluently in thirteen of them,” Rose informed him. “More if you count all the interchangeability of the Slavic languages like Serbian, Croatian, and other Eastern European ones.”

 

If Mr. Reynolds face had been red before, it was _really_ red now. “Get out of my classroom! Out! Go sit in the hallway, I’m done with you for the day! Impertinent brat! OUT!”

“Gladly,” Rose told him with a brilliant smile. She got up and practically flounced out of the classroom and into the hallway. Phase 1: complete.

Rather than sit in the hallway for the remainder of the day until lunch, which was still two hours away, Rose decided to visit a shop near the school and while away the time. She’d be back in time for lunch, no doubt, and sit with Louise as always, but for now, she’d have some fun. After all, her teacher had sent her out of the room!

Thinking nothing at all of leaving the school and walking to a shop six blocks away, Rose did just that, completely unaware that she would even be missed by the staff of her school. In truth, she wasn’t that much missed and her absence wouldn’t be discovered until she returned for the lunch period.

Rose had a lovely walk in the warm September sunshine to the little shop. She always carried some money with her and while it wasn’t a lot, it was enough to go wander the store and see if there was something she’d like to buy. It turned out that there was, in fact, something she wanted to buy! After selecting a soda, a display caught Rose’s eye as she continued to wander. It was a display of tattoos! Not real ones, of course, but fake ones.

Hurrying over to the display, Rose carefully examined the display. These tattoos were guaranteed to not wash off for at least seven whole days- that was marvelous! But what to select? There were so many different styles to choose from, and after much consideration, she picked out two identical unicorn tattoos. After all, she couldn’t leave Louise out of the fun!

Her purchases in hand, Rose made her way to the register and paid for her items, then resumed walking around the neighborhood that surrounded her school, keeping an eye on the time. When it neared the lunch hour, Rose headed back to the school and down to the lunch room.

“Rose! Rose!” Louise called, spotting her friend as she also arrived for lunch. She waved enthusiastically at Rose, smiling as the other girl hurried over.

“I got you something. Let’s go to the washroom and put it on,” Rose whispered, her eyes sparkling with merriment. Hand in hand, the girls snuck off to the washroom.

“It’s a unicorn! It’s lovely,” Louise decided, examining the tattoo. “Where’d you get it?”

“The store. Got tossed out of class again so I went off for a bit. Hallway’s boring,” Rose responded, as if that explained everything. “Come on let’s put them on!”

Within just a few moments the girls sported identical shiny, glittery, very pink unicorns on their bodies. Rose had put hers on her left forearm while Louise had put hers up on her left shoulder. Once they were certain their tattoos were firmly in place, they returned to the lunch room.

Before the lunch period ended, the news of Rose’s daring escape and the fancy tattoos that were the result of it was flying across the room from table to table. Before long, the story had reached the ears of teachers and both Rose and Louise were escorted to the office for a chat with the administrator.

“Tattoos are not allowed,” the woman said firmly. “Real or not, they aren’t allowed, and they constitute a breach of uniform. Miss Holmes, we’ve had this issue with you before, being out of uniform. In fact, this is the fifth time this term we’ve had that issue, though this is incredibly more creative than your prior issues,” she had to admit. “And what is this I hear about you leaving school grounds?”

Rose shrugged. “It’s true. Louise wasn’t with me though. I brought the tattoos back from the shop I went to and gave her one. She didn’t have any part in anything else.”

“So you deliberately left school grounds? Because you fancied a walk or something?” The child’s logic didn’t add up in Miss Hartford’s mind. “Was your teacher aware of this? Did you just get up and leave your lessons without so much as a by-your-leave?”

“No, Mr. Reynolds told me to leave class,” Rose admitted. “I didn’t want to sit in the hall again, it’s very boring, and so I decided to amuse myself outside until lunch. I might have skipped lunch, but today’s my favorite so I didn’t want to miss it.”

Miss Hartford’s mouth dropped open. “Isn’t this the tenth time in three weeks Mr. Reynolds has sent you out of class? If he sends you out of class, young lady, it is not an invitation to leave the school because you feel like it or because you’re not being entertained. We make a lot of exceptions for you here, because you are a very bright girl, but behavior such as this doesn’t make me feel inclined to continue making those exceptions. If you’re sent to the hall to think about what you’ve done wrong, you will sit there and make at least _some_ attempt to learn a lesson from it.”

Rose sighed heavily and said, “Dull.”

“Miss Holmes, go sit with the secretary. Miss Gardner, back to class. I’ll be sending a note home about the tattoo, but that’s all we’ll say on the matter. You are considerably better behaved than your friend. I urge you to reevaluate this friendship in order to avoid getting in trouble.”

“What for? Rose is brilliant! Not her fault nobody understands her now that Mrs. Allen had to quit,” Louise pointed out. “She doesn’t make trouble all the time. And she’s the bestest friend someone could ever have in the whole world. We’re practically sisters.”

Miss Hartford rolled her eyes and dismissed Louise. A note home would suffice this time, but it would most definitely not suffice for Rose Holmes!

\--------------------------------

At an office across town a phone began ringing and was quickly answered by a PA by the name of Barbara Gaines. “Mycroft Holmes’ office,” Gaines replied.

“This is Jean Hartford, the administrator of Rose’s school, and I need to speak with Mr. Holmes please,” the woman on the other end responded.

“Mr. Holmes is in a meeting right now, is there a message I can take?”

“No, there isn’t. You can interrupt him and have him come to the phone. It’s very important.”

Gaines frowned. “Is this an emergency? Is Rose injured?”

“No, she’s not injured,” Miss Hartford replied. “But she’s being dismissed for the day and Mr. Holmes needs to come collect her.”

This wasn’t going to go well, Gaines thought to herself. “Please hold.” After placing the call on hold, she got up from her desk and pressed the intercom.

“Gaines, I’m in the middle of meeting and asked not to be disturbed,” Mycroft’s replied, his voice tinged with annoyance.

“Yes sir, I know, but Rose’s school is on the phone for you. They won’t leave a message.”

Gaines could hear him sigh. “Keep them on hold for three minutes and then put them through.”

“Will do sir,” she agreed.

Inside his office, Mycroft rubbed his forehead before resuming his video conference call. “I apologize, but we’ll have to resume this meeting at another time,” he told the German chancellor. “An emergency on our end.”

“Mr. Holmes, this is important,” the Chancellor replied.

“I’m well aware of that,” he replied in an even tone. “You wouldn’t be speaking with me if it wasn’t important. However, no one is going to die in the next few hours while I handle something here. Should the situation change, contact my PA. Otherwise, we’ll continue our conversation in three hours.”

He ended the video conference call after getting the chancellor’s reluctant agreement to reconvene and picked up the call from the school. “Miss Hartford, this had better be very, very important or I will be speaking to the board of directors about the future of your employment.”

Jean Hartford honestly had no idea what it was Rose Holmes’s eldest brother and guardian did for a living, but for some reason she never doubted that he meant it when he issued threats of that nature. “I do apologize for interrupting you, Mr. Holmes. Unfortunately we’ve had some disciplinary issues with Rose and she’s being dismissed for the day. You will need to come collect her from the office.”

Mycroft barely bit back a groan. “Why is she being dismissed for the day?”

“Continual disruptions in the classroom, general inability to obey her teacher for starters. Refusal to speak in English for another. Additionally, she left school grounds to go shopping and came back sporting a tattoo. While it is admittedly a fake tattoo, it is a violation of the school’s dress code,” Miss Hartford explained.

“And how exactly did she manage to leave the premises without anyone noticing her absence and raising a general alarm that a child was missing?” Mycroft asked his voice low and dangerous.

Miss Hartford swallowed loudly before responding. “I’m looking into that issue. It shouldn’t have occurred, but the fact that it was able to happen doesn’t change the fact that Rose did it.”

“Funnily enough I doubt the board of directors will agree with that assessment. That, however, is an issue for another day,” Mycroft decided. “I will be there in fifteen minutes to collect Rose.” He hung up the phone and departed his office a few moments later.

\---------------------------------------

Rose was waiting in the office with her backpack and jacket when Mycroft arrived. “My, I--”

“I doubt you have a suitable explanation for your behavior and even if you do, I don’t care to hear it at this moment,” Mycroft said. He hauled her to her feet by her arm and proceeded to march her out of the building. “I was in a meeting with a very important world leader when you decided to create mass chaos at your school and get yourself sent home for the day. Let me tell you this, young lady, I’ve had it with your nonsense.”

“But My, it’s not nonsense,” Rose whined, half-running to keep up with his longer strides.

Mycroft came to a dead stop and swatted her, hard, right there in the parking lot. He glared at her, ignoring the indignant whine and the pink flush of embarrassment that settled on her face in response to the smack. “This was very clearly a bid for my attention and don’t you dare try to tell me it wasn’t! Well, now you’re going to get all the attention from me you can stand, and I promise you, Rosenwyn, that you won’t enjoy a _second_ of it!”

Rose stared at him, her eyes going wide. This… was not what she had anticipated. Scathingly brilliant ideas were not supposed to end with smackings from furious big brothers. How did this always happen?! “That wasn’t my plan,” she finally said in a tiny voice.

“How unfortunate,” he replied sarcastically. “Next time think twice before being a petulant brat. Now get in the car and be quiet!”

Biting her lip, Rose got into the car and remained silent the entire way home. When the car was parked in the drive, Mycroft took Rose’s arm once again and escorted her into the house, waiting as she took off her jacket and placed her backpack by the door.

“Let me see this tattoo of yours,” Mycroft said. When she held up her arm and he was greeted with a sparkly pink unicorn, he rolled his eyes.

“It’s not real,” Rose told him in a quiet tone.

“Well unless it fades within the next thirty seconds, I can assure you that your spanking will be very much real,” Mycroft threatened. “My study, Rosenwyn.”

With a sigh the little girl trudged off to his study with Mycroft right behind her. He sat behind his desk and looked at her sternly, watching her squirm a bit as she stood there.

“Wait!” Rose exclaimed, suddenly sounding hopeful. “If I can get this to wash off, I’m not in trouble?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Oh no, you’ll still be in trouble, even if you can get that stupid thing to wash off your arm. I highly doubt it will, however, so don’t think you’re getting out of having a spanking.”

She stomped her foot. “But whhhhhhhy?” Rose whined, giving him a spectacular pout.

Her eldest brother rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Because you’re completely ridiculous, that’s why!”

“No I’m not. That’s not even nice Mycroft. I can explain everything, I swear,” Rose promised.

“Oh, please do, sister mine. Please, give me a logical explanation for every single one of your choices today that does _not_ involve the words “I’m bored”,” Mycroft demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

His refusal to hear the words ‘I’m bored’ caused Rose to pause just a moment before responding. “It was dull. My brain cells were committing mass suicide because my teacher is a meanie head who doesn’t understand anything about me at all.”

“So you thought refusing to speak English just to infuriate your teacher that you dislike was a wise choice? And leaving the school and this tattoo nonsense? The only explanation you have to offer me is that you don’t _like_ him and _it was dull_?” Mycroft asked incredulously. “As I said: ridiculous.”

“I’m going to call Mummy and tell her you’re being horrible. She said I could call any time and she won’t think I’m ridiculous at all,” Rose threatened. “She’ll listen and make it all better.”

Mycroft stood up, towering her over despite the fact that there was a large desk between them. “You are not calling Mother to whine and complain to her that you aren’t getting your way. She is resting in the Mediterranean and your whining will take away from that rest, you will leave her be. I’m not in the mood to play your games, Rosenwyn Aramantha, so I suggest you be the brilliant girl I know you are and be quiet.”

Rose scowled and stomped again. “Everyone says be quiet! ‘Rose, please don’t interrupt when I am talking’ about the wrong things, or the teacher just talks at me about stuff I learned years ago! I don’t want to sit there and have my brain cells die anymore! It’s dull and pointless and a complete waste of time and I won’t have it anymore!” By the time she finished her outburst, tears were running down her face.

Mycroft’s eyebrow quirked. “Oh, you won’t have it anymore, will you? Do you want to know what I won’t have anymore? A stroppy, rude, disobedient little girl! Stop the attitude _immediately_ before you talk yourself into even more trouble. As it is, you’re already due a good, sound spanking and you’re staying home from dance Monday night for wasting my time and the school’s time in having to deal with your poor behavior!” He bellowed the words at her, loudly and harshly, causing her to take a little step backwards.

“That’s not fair,” she replied in a tiny voice. “I love dance. I _need_ dance. Give it back, please? Please?” Rose was well aware that pleading to avoid punishment entirely wasn’t going to be successful, so she didn’t even bother to try and negotiate the rest of her sentence.

“It’s entirely fair, I promise you, and I don’t care to hear your complaints about it. Do you have anything further to say for yourself? An apology might be appropriate right about now,” Mycroft pointed out.

Just as Rose opened her mouth to respond, his mobile rang and one look at the caller ID told him that he had to take this call. “Go to your room and put your nose in the corner. I’ll be up for your spanking momentarily.”

Rose turned and fled the study, running up the stairs and into her room. Rather than putting her nose in the corner as directed, however, she went straight to her window, intending to runaway. Mycroft was _so_ mad at her and he was _shouting_ at her! This had not worked out like she planned it at all!

The window went up easily and within just a moment Rose had popped the screen out of it. Without thinking to stop for a jacket, Rose climbed out the window and onto a large branch of the tree next to the house. With great care she managed to climb down the tree and then took off at break-neck speed.

Inside the house, Mycroft hung up his mobile after promising to head back to the office right away. “Sherlock!” he called out as he exited the study.

The younger Holmes brother sighed heavily and descended the stairs. “What?” Sherlock asked. “Why are you bellowing?”

“Never mind that, I cannot explain right now. I have to go back to the office and I’ll be gone at least a few hours. I just sent Rose to her room to stand in the corner, will you go tell her she can leave the corner but is restricted to her room until I come back?” Mycroft asked.

“I suppose. But don’t expect me to do anything more than that, particularly if you’re not going to tell me what she did,” Sherlock cautioned.

“Fine, fine, just give her the message,” Mycroft ground out before disappearing out the front door.

Sherlock headed back upstairs, intending to both pass on the message and find out from Rose what was going on. He knocked on her closed bedroom door and waited briefly for her to respond. “Rose? Can I come in?” he asked when there was no response.

When he still didn’t receive a response, Sherlock opened the door and knew immediately upon seeing the window that Rose was gone. It was a surprising development as Rose had never pulled a disappearing act when she was in trouble before. Sherlock was confidant though that she wouldn’t go far and would return by the time it started to get dark.

\--------------------------------------

Darkness was soon approaching and Rose had not returned home. Sherlock was growing worried and decided that it was time to start looking for her. Grabbing his coat and scarf against the evening chill, he headed out the door and in search of his sister.

Surprisingly enough, Rose turned out to be rather easy to find. She’d sought refuge at a park several blocks from their home and was still there, sitting at the base of a tree near the swing set when Sherlock came looking for her. “Hello,” he greeted, sitting down beside her. “Bad day?”

“Hi,” Rose replied quietly. “Did Mycroft send you to come get me?”

“No. He isn’t home from the office just yet, he was called back in,” Sherlock told her. “But it’s getting dark and I didn’t like the thought of you alone in the dark.”

The little girl looked up at him with the hint of a smile on her lips. “Sentiment?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I’m rather fond of you,” he murmured. “I keep trying to get over that, but you make it very difficult to do so.”

Though he was trying to tease her, Rose responded by looking down at her hands. “I’m very good at making things difficult, and being difficult,” she said softly. “Mycroft’s very, very mad at me.”

“So I’d gathered,” Sherlock responded. The forlorn look on her face when straight to his heart and he immediately wrapped his arms around her. “You are very, very cold,” he observed. “Didn’t you think to get a jacket?”

Rose shook her head. “This, much like the rest of my day, has been a very ill-conceived plan.”

Sherlock stood and took off his coat, immediately wrapping Rose up in it like a blanket before he sat down beside her once more. “Not feeling very brave?”

“No. Mycroft was bellowing at me and I hate that. It means he’s very angry and I’m in very big trouble and I don’t want to be in very big trouble,” Rose explained.

“And you thought if you gave him some time to collect himself, he wouldn’t be as angry?” She nodded, confirming his thoughts. “You can’t stay away forever, Rose. You have to come home sometime. We’ll miss you terribly if you don’t,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to stay away forever,” she assured her big brother. “But I don’t want Mycroft to yell at me anymore, or spank me.”

“Because you believe it to be an undeserved spanking, or you just don’t want one because you don’t like them?” Sherlock inquired.

Rose gave him a pout. “That’s not a nice question. Maybe I deserve it; maybe. Alright, alright, I do,” she admittedly reluctantly when he gave her a look.

“Then it’s best to get it done with, isn’t it? It won’t be less unpleasant the longer you wait for it,” Sherlock pointed out. “How about I bring you home and get you into the bath so you can warm up? You can tell me what happened on the walk back and I’ll try to help with Mycroft. At the very least I’ll tell him no more shouting,” he promised. “Can you be brave if I help? If I listen?”

She nodded. “I love you Sherlock. You always listen,” she whispered.

Sherlock smiled and kissed her cheek. “Come along then,” he said. He easily scooped her up and held her close, still wrapped in his coat.

“I can walk!” Rose giggled.

“I’m well aware of that fact. However, you’ll be warmer if you stay under my coat and let me carry you back.”

“You just like carrying me, because I’m small,” Rose deduced with a smirk.

“Brat,” Sherlock responded with a wink. “So, tell me all about what happened today and why Mycroft is mad at you.”

\-----------------------------------

By the time they returned home, Mycroft had returned as well and was waiting for them. He looked at his siblings, an eyebrow raised questioningly, as Sherlock carried Rose into the house. “I’ll explain, give me a few moments,” Sherlock said, sailing past him and up the stairs.

“I’m going to run you a bath and I’ll talk to Mycroft while you get warmed up,” Sherlock told Rose as he set her on her feet in the hallway. “Go get your pajamas and dressing gown and meet me in the bathroom.”

When Rose was settled into a warm, steamy bath and had a cup of tea to help her warm up faster, Sherlock descended the stairs to speak with Mycroft. He found his older brother in his study and entered without bothering to knock, earning a predictable glare for doing so.

“You shouldn’t yell at her,” Sherlock stated, sitting on the small sofa in the room. “You know how it upsets her.”

“Well then she shouldn’t be so naughty, should she?” Mycroft replied. “Her behavior today was outrageous.”

“Her behavior was precipitated by an ignorant instructor who doesn’t give a damn about the fact that Rose is a brilliant little girl,” Sherlock countered. “I’m not excusing her cheek or her adventure off the school grounds, but she’s utterly miserable, Mycroft. He’s punishing her for being smart.”

Mycroft frowned darkly. “Explain.”

“Her special pass has been revoked, she spends considerable time in the hallway on a daily basis, she’s made to write lines, all because he doesn’t think she’s anymore special than anyone else. He has completely disregarded the system Mrs. Allen had set up to keep Rose engaged and accommodate her learning abilities,” Sherlock told him.

“That’s why she acted out today, because she’s just that miserable. Not the right way to deal with things, I’m fully aware, so spare me the lecture and accusations that I’m too lenient with her. I’m not at all in agreement with her leaving the school grounds all by herself. She’s only seven, after all,” Sherlock conceded.

The other Holmes sighed heavily. “I suppose I should have listened to her more, rather than assume the school had the right of it. In my defense, you know Rose has a flair for the dramatic.”

“She does, but she’s not a liar Mycroft,” Sherlock responded. “This is, in effect, partly your fault. Listen to her next time. Rose generally doesn’t misbehave to this extent without a good reason and her motivation doesn’t involve driving you insane for the most part. You are the mean brother after all.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to talk to me out of spanking her, Sherlock, so let’s not bother with that part.”

“Just don’t bellow at her again, and upset her unnecessarily, or _I_ will bellow at _you_.”

“May I remind you,” Mycroft began, already sounding close to exasperation. “That I’m not some sort of dragon for you to slay and Rose is not a princess in need of protection from me. Keep the dramatics out of it, brother mine. I’m not going to shout at her if she’s already upset and is ready to discuss things properly.”

Sherlock gave a curt nod and exited his brother’s study.

\----------------------------------------------

Half an hour after talking with Sherlock, Mycroft headed upstairs to find his little sister. He knocked lightly on her door and said, “Rose, its Mycroft. May I come in?” He could hear a squeak and the sound of footsteps as she crossed the room.

“Yes!” Rose finally called back.

Mycroft entered her bedroom, shutting the door behind him, and was greeted by the sight of his sister standing in the corner. “You haven’t been standing there for hours and hours Rose. Are you trying to convince me you have been?” He had no intention of scolding her for the few hours she spent at the park, but he wouldn’t be pleased if she tried to tell him she’d been waiting in the corner this whole time.

Rose shook her head, her curls dancing from the movement, but offered no further comment.

“Then why are you standing there?” Mycroft asked.

“I’m trying to be good,” Rose told him softly. “So you know I _can_ be good.”

Damn it, Sherlock was right, Mycroft thought to himself. He shouldn’t have bellowed at her earlier. He’d forgotten how sensitive his little sister was. He crossed the room and turned Rose around to face him, then knelt in front of her.

“I know you can be good. You _are_ good,” Mycroft told her. “Sometimes, however, you don’t make good _choices_. That is what upsets me, that is what isn’t good, the choices, not you. There’s a difference, and it’s an important one.”

“Sometimes I don’t know how it happens,” Rose admitted, looking down. “Honestly, I don’t start out to get in trouble, you know. It just sort of happens.”

Mycroft chuckled and shook his head. “Trouble just finds you, hm? You don’t always have to let it, you know. Every so often you should just say “no” rather than make mischief.”

“I’m sorry I made you mad and that you had to leave work. I hadn’t anticipated that part. I might have rethought my scathingly brilliant idea had I realized that might be an outcome,” she said thoughtfully.

“What’s done is done, we cannot change it,” Mycroft told her. “Sherlock told me how miserable you’ve been. Is this new teacher really that bad? It’s not that you just want Mrs. Allen back?” Rose could be very resistant to change when she wanted to be, seemingly craving routines which gave her a sense of security.

“He doesn’t like me and he won’t let me do special projects anymore. He really, _really_ doesn’t like me at all,” she said sadly. “I tried very hard to be nice and not be… overwhelming? Or something? But it didn’t work.”

“Why didn’t you come talk to me?” Mycroft asked as he stood and picked her up, making his way to her bed.

“I tried, but you said I was being dramatic. I suppose I should have tried harder to speak with you before I started getting in trouble all the time. That didn’t help, did it?”

Mycroft shook his head and sat down, holding her in his lap. “No, it did not. I promise to listen better next time, no matter how many notes about misbehavior are sent home.”

“Good! Then I won’t have to get in trouble anymore,” Rose decided with a smile.

“Don’t be too optimistic, sister mine, as trouble does tend to follow you wherever you go,” Mycroft pointed out.

“Meanie,” Rose grumbled, even as she snuggled close.

He held her closely for a few moments, letting a comfortable silence fill the room for just a bit. Sadly, however, he had a spanking to give her and there wasn’t much point in putting it off any further. “We have a bit of business to take care of, don’t we Rosenwyn?” he finally asked.

Rose made a little whiny noise and cuddled even closer. “Even though my teacher is horrid?”

“Even though your teacher is horrid,” Mycroft confirmed. “You made your choices today all by yourself and that’s what you must answer for, because they were very poor choices.” Before she could whine any further, Mycroft gently guided her off his lap to stand in front of him. “Just so we’re clear, do you understand why you’re getting a spanking, Rosenwyn?”

Her gaze shifted to the floor and she shuffled her feet in that endearing way of hers that she always did when being scolded before a spanking. “I suppose,” Rose finally answered.

“Then let’s make certain you know,” Mycroft decided. “Why do _you_ think you’re being spanked? And the answer is not ‘because you’re mean’” he cautioned.

She pouted when he took away her reflex response and was then forced to actually think about it. “I was rude to my teacher, even if he deserved it, I shouldn’t be rude,” Rose admitted, lifting her head to look at him. “Or disrupt everyone else’s learning. Especially that because do they _ever_ need it.”

Mycroft struggled to hold back a chuckle at the commentary she provided along with her answers. “What else?” he encouraged.

“I shouldn’t have left the school,” Rose continued. “Or put a tattoo where people could see it.”

“You really do need to get over your habit of breaking the dress code rules,” Mycroft interrupted.

“I think that’s everything though, isn’t it? Oh, wait! I was sassy, to you, wasn’t I?”

“You were. I understand you were frustrated, but you need to communicate with me properly. Not by whining or arguing or any of that other mess,” he responded. “Use your words. You’re brilliant; you can figure it out without resorting to childish nonsense.”

“Okay,” Rose agreed, looking down once more. “I’m not _really_ sorry about annoying Mr. Reynolds, because he’s horrid, but I _am_ sorry about the rest of it. I’ll be good,” she whispered.

“You _are_ good,” Mycroft reiterated. “Your choices were not. Remember that. Now, dressing gown off and over my knee, Rosenwyn.”

“Do we have to?” She gave him her best sad-puppy face, hoping to get a last minute reprieve.

“After all the rules you broke? Absolutely we do,” Mycroft told her firmly. “No more arguing about it.”

With a sigh Rose took off her pink dressing gown and laid it on the bed. Taking a deep breath, she let Mycroft help her across his lap, biting her lip and he adjusted her position. She remained still, until he started to pull down her pajama bottoms. “My! Please don’t!” Rose begged, wriggling a bit.

“Rosenwyn, I promised you a sound spanking and so you shall have one. Don’t argue with me and stop your silly wiggling around,” he scolded. With one arm wrapped around her waist, he easily pulled her pajama bottoms and panties to her knees, baring her bum.

“But I’m sorry already My! I don’t want a spanking!” Rose pleaded.

Mycroft could already hear that she was close to tears, but he couldn’t allow himself to relent. “I’m very glad that you’re sorry. However, your actions today have consequences and that consequence is a sore bottom.”

He raised his hand and brought it down sharply across the center of her bottom, inwardly flinching as Rose yelped. There was going to be a lot more yelping before it was over, he knew, and Mycroft forced himself to ignore it and began to spank in earnest. His hand went back and forth, smacking first her left cheek then her right, the swats landing in no particular pattern.

Rose tried hard to be brave, she always did, but that first swat never failed to take her by surprise. Following her yelp, she bit her lip through the next several smacks, but as the sting and heat grew, Rose wasn’t able to keep quiet about how much it hurt anymore. “Owww! No! I’m sorry Mycroft! Owww!”

Mycroft didn’t respond and focused on the task at hand, now smacking up and down one cheek and then moving to the other, watching the color of her bottom change from a dusty pink to a more reddish hue. It was then he gave some attention to her sit spots, intending to give her something to remember tomorrow when she sat down.

The swats were heavy and stingy and the overlapping intensified the burn Mycroft’s hand left behind. Rose continued to squirm and wriggle and cry out as he continued to spank. “Noooooo!” she finally wailed, throwing a hand back. “No more!”

“Rose, you know better,” Mycroft scolded, pushing her hand out the way. Her efforts were rewarded with some solid swats to her upper thighs that pushed her from wailing and protesting to outright crying. Moving his hand back to her cheeks, warming them up once again, he heard her gasp a few times before beginning to sob. Nearly done then.

“Are you going to disrupt your classroom and take away the learning opportunities of your classmates anymore?” Mycroft questioned with a very hard smack.

“Noooooooooo!” Rose promised.

“Are you going to leave school grounds on your own without permission again?” Another solid swat accompanied the question.

Rose shook her head vigorously no, letting out wail.

“Are we going to continue to have issues with your school uniform?” Mycroft knew she hated this part more than any other, but it was important that she very clearly understand the behavior that would no longer be tolerated.

She shook her head once more, her hands moving to hold onto his pants in order to keep from putting her hand back again.

“If we have to address these issues again, Rosenwyn, it won’t be my hand spanking your bottom. I’ll find Mother’s spoon and give you a good paddling,” Mycroft warned. He flinched when her sobs went up in volume. “Not now, not now,” he hurried to assure her. “ _If_ we have these issues again, not right now. Understand?” He waited until she nodded, then gave her one final smack across the center of her bottom.

Rose cried with abandon, regardless of the fact that the spanking was now over. Her bum was on fire and she’d never be able to sit again! She just knew it! She had the meanest brother in the whole wide world to spank her so hard.

“Alright poppet, we’re done,” Mycroft assured her. He rubbed her back gently for a moment, letting her have a good cry, before carefully pulling her clothing back up into place. “There, there, I know it’s very miserable,” he murmured, picking her up and hugging her tightly. “You’ll be alright poppet.”

Rose shook her head indicating that no; she would _not_ be alright, prompting Mycroft to kiss the top of her head. “You will be, I promise,” he soothed. “I know it hurts now, and I know you think I’m very awful, but I do it because I care about you. I want you to be safe and happy and that means you have to follow the rules. I’d much rather give you a good smacking now than have you hurt later,” Mycroft pointed out.

She pressed her face against his neck and clung to his shirt with both hands, clenching the material in her little fists. Oh yes, she was a most miserable little thing at this moment, he thought to himself. Words weren’t what she needed just then, so Mycroft fell silent and rocked her gently in his arms, letting her cry for as long as she needed to.

It took several minutes, but Rose finally calmed down and let go of his shirt, relaxing against him completely. “Tears all done?” Mycroft asked gently.

Rose nodded and whispered, “My eyes hurt. Too much tears.”

“Here, lie down on your tummy, I’ll be right back,” Mycroft told her. He gently laid her out on the bed and exited the room to find a flannel. After running it under the cold water for a moment, he returned to the bedroom and gently wiped her face before letting her hold the cloth to her eyes.

“’m sorry,” Rose whispered.

“I know poppet, I know. You’re forgiven,” he said reassuringly. “I’ll work things out with your teacher so that you aren’t miserable at school anymore, alright?”

“’k,” Rose agreed. “Love you, even when you’re mean.”

Mycroft smiled and rubbed her back gently. “And I love you, even when you’re naughty,” he said softly.

“Wanna cuddle,” she decided, giving him a pout.

“Cuddle in my lap again?” When she nodded, Mycroft carefully picked her up and settled her in his lap, doing his best to adjust her position so that there wasn’t much pressure on what he was sure was a very sore bottom.

Rose snuggled close and closed her eyes as Mycroft resumed rocking her oh-so-gently. Within moments her breathing evened out, telling him she was fast asleep. He waited ten more minutes before he moved to tuck her into bed on her tummy.

“Goodnight poppet,” he whispered, kissing her cheek. After looking at her fondly for a moment, Mycroft turned out the lights and exited her bedroom, shutting the door behind him.


	13. A Scathingly Brilliant Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received requests for an epilogue, so here you go! Enjoy!

It was the perfect Saturday morning. Early, but not too early, a light breeze coming in through the open dining room window. Eggs, scrambled, muffin with butter, sausage links, and a large mug of tea; make that a _very_ large mug of tea. Add the newspaper and the reigning silence in the Holmes house and it was perfect.

Then he heard it. That tale-tell hop/run, light footsteps full of excitement, half-hopping or skipping across the floor above him that signaled the peace and quiet was about to end in five… four…three… two…

“Good morning!” Rose greeted him, singing the words in an operatic tone as she sailed into the dining room.

“It was, until you arrived,” Mycroft grumbled, giving her a scowl.

Rose smiled, grabbed his newspaper, and tossed it off to the side before crawling onto his lap. “That’s your “I’m pretending to be very cross with you” scowl and I’m not intimidated,” she assured him.

“I was reading that!” Mycroft retorted. “And how am I supposed to eat my breakfast and drink my tea with you sitting in my lap?”

“I dunno,” she replied with a shrug. “But you’re clever, so I’m certain you’ll figure something out.”

“I will indeed. Be gone, pest, and go sit in your own chair,” Mycroft ordered, pointing to the nearest chair. “Hand me my newspaper on your way.”

“I don’t want to sit in a chair,” Rose pouted. “I want to sit on you, because my bum hurts.”

“Hmm, I wonder why that is?” Mycroft quipped, an eyebrow raised.

“And that’s why you are the meanest and nastiest brother in the world Mycroft. Smack her and then make her sit on a chair? Outrageous,” Sherlock announced as he entered the dining room. He plucked Rose up off their brother’s lap and swung her around a bit, nearly smacking Mycroft in the process.

“I’ll be your chair,” he offered, carrying her to a chair. “How’s that sound, Rosie?”

“Sounds lovely! It’s too bad My is so awful,” Rose said, playing up the sympathy card. She practically preened when Sherlock made a gentle shushing sound and held on to her protectively as he sat down at the opposite end of the table.

Mycroft rolled his eyes as he retrieved his newspaper and tried to ignore his brother and sister and their silliness at the other end of the table. Once his breakfast was finished, however, Mycroft was ready to depart the family home for a bit.

“Where are you going?” Rose called from her spot on Sherlock’s lap.

“My club. I’ll only be out a few hours, its personal, not work,” Mycroft answered. “Don’t damage the house while I’m away, please. Either of you.”

Rose watched as he exited the dining room and got ready to leave. “Wait! You can’t go yet!” she called when he opened the front door.

“Why not?” Mycroft asked, giving her an incredulous look.

Without a word Rose got up and ran over to him, wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she could. “Can’t leave without a hug and kiss,” she said quietly.

“You just agreed with Sherlock that I was the meanest, nastiest brother in the whole world and now you want a kiss before I leave?” Mycroft asked, sounding flabbergasted.

“Yes, because I was only teasing. Sherlock might really think that though, I’m not sure. But I didn’t really mean it,” Rose hurried to assure him, giving her brother a very anxious look.

Mycroft rubbed her cheek gently with his hand. “I know Poppet,” he assured her. “Want to know how I know you didn’t mean it?”

Rose nodded, looking up at him curiously.

“Because if you really thought those things, you wouldn’t hunt me down for a quick cuddle before I leave,” he whispered.

“Genius!” Rose announced with a grin.

Mycroft chuckled and picked Rose up. “Be a good girl for Sherlock and stay out of my study,” he requested before kissing her cheek. “Think you can manage?”

“I think so,” she replied, giving him a smile as he put her down. “Have fun at your stupid club.”

Ever the put-upon brother, Mycroft rolled his eyes and gave her a gentle shove away from the door. He watched her scamper back to Sherlock, whispering excitedly about something. Just as Mycroft was about to shut the door firmly behind he heard…

“Of course you can stay in your pajamas all day and eat ice cream!”

Sherlock made the worst co-parent _ever._ Mycroft opened the door fully and stepped back into the house. “Rosenwyn Holmes, you will be dressed within the hour and you will not eat ice cream until after you’ve eaten lunch, and it will be a reasonably sized portion when you do.”

The two younger Holmeses pouted at him, but Mycroft was not deterred in the slightest. “Sherlock, do try to be a grown up for once and _not_ countermand _every_ rule.” With a warning look, Mycroft finally left and shut the door behind him. Those two were incorrigible! He hadn’t had a moment’s peace since Rose was born. Not a single solitary moment of peace.

\------------------------------

Mycroft looked up as the door to his private office at the Diogenes Club was opened. As a man stepped inside, he stood to greet him, but the other man beat him to the punch, so to speak.

“Mycroft old boy! Good to see you!” George Whitaker greeted his old university friend. He came forward and clasped Mycroft’s hand, shaking it vigorously. “Been an age since we last caught up.”

“Indeed,” Mycroft replied, trying to keep the disgust from both his face and tone. It was a good thing he had so much practice being diplomatic; always came in handy at times like this. “Scotch? Or brandy?” he offered, making his way to the decanters on the sideboard.

“Scotch and water,” George responded. “You rent this out, eh?”

“I do. It comes in handy for a great many things,” Mycroft confirmed. “Particularly when I need to speak with people, which isn’t allowed in other areas of the club.”

“Quite right. First time here myself,” George admitted, accepting the drink Mycroft handed him.

“I imagine you know why I asked to meet with you today,” Mycroft commented, taking a seat in an expensive but comfortable armchair.

“Yes,” George confirmed, sitting in the other arm chair. “Heard about that business yesterday. The admin, Hartford, called my office. She was a bit disturbed by a conversation she had with you on the phone. Something about threatening her job.”

Mycroft nodded. “Good, I meant for her to be disturbed and I meant what I said about her job. It was really more of a promise than a threat.”

George looked at his friend appraisingly. “I told her I’d look into the matter, so I was rather relieved when you asked me to meet you here.”

“There is very little to look into, George, aside from Miss Hartford’s immediate dismissal. My sister is, as they say, a “handful”, so don’t believe that I’ve turned a blind eye to any misbehavior at school. Quite the opposite really,” Mycroft explained. “While I admit her interactions with Mr. Reynolds were rude, I find the school to be at fault for the whole debacle yesterday.”

“How so? I’m not contradicting, mind, I’m just interested in your thoughts on the matter,” George clarified.

“As you know, my mother and I were very selective about the schools we visited and thought about sending Rose to,” Mycroft began. “My brother had a beastly time being forced into a curriculum far below his intelligence level with instructors unwilling or unable to accommodate him. I was not going to have that for Rose. Your school came very highly recommended and Mother and I were quite impressed by the willingness of the staff to work with us on Rose’s education so that she wouldn’t be bored and miserable. Nothing good ever comes from a Holmes being bored and miserable.”

George chuckled and nodded, indicating Mycroft should continue.

“Thus far, the staff has been exemplary in working with Rose, fulfilling their promises to the fullest, with the exception of continued instances of bullying,” Mycroft admitted with a sigh. “Though I do understand that can be, to a certain extent, out of their control so I haven’t taken great issue with the matter. Unfortunately, however, the school has begun to greatly disappoint me. I don’t pay exorbitant amounts of money in tuition and donations to the school for Rose to be banished to the hallway for hours a day, punished with lines because she’s bored, and have her special privileges revoked.

“If there’s a behavior problem, certainly send her to the hall for a bit of reflection time. Leave her there for hours on end? That’s unacceptable George, and very, _very_ disappointing. This arrogant, undereducated, bullying arse of a substitute-come-permanent teacher will have to go. Or _I_ will go and take at least a dozen students with me in the process. People value my recommendation and have placed their children in your school because I have sung its praises. They won’t hesitate to leave the moment my displeasure with the school becomes public knowledge.” The look on Mycroft’s face was that of a man used to bending the world to his will and both willing and able to ruin the reputation of the school in question without a second thought.

George swallowed hard and then took a deep breath. “You make some very excellent points Mycroft. The board of directors takes the care of its students very seriously and was, in fact, unhappy to hear of the situation with your sister. We were not made aware of the issues within Mrs. Allen’s classroom until yesterday when Miss Hartford called my office. Mr. Reynolds, on paper and in his interview to be placed on our substitute list looked like a very good teacher, but looks can be deceiving.”

“Indeed,” Mycroft murmured.

“Give us a few days to sort the matter out and find a replacement,” George asked. “I’ll personally ensure that Rose’s regular routine is adhered to in the meantime, regardless of Mr. Reynolds feelings on the matter. We’ll also make very certain that the new hire understands her situation and will have no problem with the arrangements for Rose.”

“That sounds like a perfectly acceptable solution. Naturally Mr. Reynolds will be dismissed without a reference for future work, as well?” Mycroft asked.

“Yes! Yes, naturally, naturally,” George agreed without a second of hesitation.

Mycroft smiled and nodded. “Excellent. That’s one matter dealt with. The other is this administrator, Jean Hartford. I question my sister’s safety within her care. How in god’s name does a seven year old leave a school without anyone noticing her absence, be gone for at least two hours times, and have no one even notice her waltzing back into the building until she’s got a fake tattoo? Don’t my tuition fees pay for security? For enough staff that students are not free to come and go as they pleased and potentially be carried off by kidnappers or hit by vehicles crossing the street?”

George nodded. “They do! They certainly do, Mycroft. I’m not entirely certain if all that can be laid on Miss Hartford’s shoulders however…”

“Oh I’m very, _very_ certain of it, George,” Mycroft interrupted. “Clearly she isn’t paying anywhere near the proper level of attention to the happenings within the building of which she is in charge. That any child should be able to wander off and not even be missed then blamed and disciplined for their disappearance, is completely outrageous.

“Should Rose have wandered off?” Mycroft asked the question rhetorically. “No, certainly not. But that should never have been an option for her or any other child. The safety of the children is paramount, George, and an administrator that allows something like this to happen is clearly ineffective in her post and should thusly be eliminated from it immediately and without reference. In fact, her licensing should really go under review for this. I _know_ this isn’t the standard of care the school wishes to become known for.”

“Certainly not! The board cares very much about the children; about their education and their safety,” George hurried to reassure him. “This is not a shining moment for Miss Hartford by any means but I’m not certain I can…”

“Of course you can George,” Mycroft interrupted once more. “You’re the head of the board of directors and it is within your power to sack anyone at that school and justify your actions to the rest of the board later. You can and you _will_ fire Miss Hartford today before word gets out that this happened and the school finds itself on the news this evening. Not that I would do anything so vulgar as to alert the media of the issue, but the incident has surely made the rounds from child to child and house to house. It’s really in your best interests to act, before any parents decide to make an example of the school, isn’t it?”

The other man coughed and shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Yes, yes of course,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of it straight away. Safety of the children is truly of the utmost importance and I’m certain the board will find my actions appropriate.”

“I’m certain too,” Mycroft murmured rather smugly. “Well, I appreciate your swift response to the issue George and it was _lovely_ to see you again. Do give my regards to family.” His tone fairly dripped of sarcasm.

It was abundantly clear that he was being dismissed and despite himself, George shot up out of the armchair. “I will. I appreciate your discretion Mycroft. We’ll catch up again soon.” With a curt nod the man hurried out of Mycroft’s office.

Mycroft, smiling to himself like a Cheshire cat, took a long drink of his absurdly expensive scotch, savoring the sweet taste of victory.

 


	14. Sunday in the Park

Every Sunday without fail, nanny Leah Sutton took her charge, six-year-old Matthew Lyons to the park. It was a routine they had had for the past six months, ever since she’d taken the job as his nanny and learned how desperately little Matthew needed to expend his energy on a daily basis. Sunday was park day and every Sunday at 11am the park looked exactly the same. Children of various ages ran around, shouted, laughed, and at times seemed to be determined to injure themselves. Mothers, nannies, and a few daddies, sat on benches chatting away with one another while keeping an eye on their particular child, or children as the case may be.

This Sunday, however, there was something very, very different. Leah noticed it the moment she arrived, letting go of Matthew’s hand as he ran off. There was a man she had never seen before at the park. While there was room on the benches with the other adults, the man had chosen to sit on a bench further away from them all on his own. That was a bit odd, but it was really his clothing that was oddest of all: never had she seen a man in a waistcoat at the park. Who the hell wore a waistcoat to the park?

Leah’s nanny-sense began tingling and she couldn’t help but wonder if this man wasn’t a good man and didn’t belong at the park. She couldn’t see a camera or anything particularly suspicious, he was just so very odd! Leah didn’t miss the way he scanned the park continuously with his eyes as if watching warily for something, though she wasn’t certain what it was.

Well, there was nothing for it, Leah thought. She’d just have to go see what was up with this man. Waving at Matthew, who was about to take a turn on the slide, Leah crossed the park and sat at one end of the bench the odd man occupied. Upon closer inspection, she could tell his clothing was expensive and had to be bespoke, which only made the situation even stranger. He looked to be possibly the right age to have a child playing. He was also tall, thin, and had a little bitty bit of a receding hairline.

“Hello,” Leah greeted, giving the man a smile.

Mycroft Holmes had noticed the woman watching him from across the park and had tried his best to look as unfriendly as one possibly could be. There were few things more uncomfortable than listening to a besotted parent prattle on and on with how amazing their child was and thrust their smart phone in his face to look at photographs. That’s why Sherlock normally had park duty and Mycroft was convinced his younger brother was lying about having a headache but Mother would have been particularly put out had he refused to take Rose to the park or start a row about what a liar Sherlock was.

“Hello,” Mycroft replied crisply. She was in her mid 20s and rather pretty, this woman who had dared to sit down near him and provided she didn’t talk very much, he wouldn’t object to her presence.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round here before,” Leah commented, giving him a friendly smile. “New to the neighborhood?”

He rolled his eyes. “No.”

“Have you ever been to a park before? You’re really not clad in park friendly- or child friendly- clothing,” Leah pointed out with a little laugh. “I’m Leah. Leah Sutton.” She held her hand out towards him.

“I’m really not here for pleasant discourse with strangers, Miss Sutton. I’m here against my will and I’d prefer this to be as unpleasant as possible for the time I’m required to remain among all the screeching children,” Mycroft replied.

“You aren’t here for a chat, you aren’t here to play,” Leah responded. “What exactly are you here for then?”

Just then a tiny girl wearing a bright green jumper with her curly hair in bunches, waved in their direction and bounced slightly before following another girl in the direction of the slide.

“Lord, she’s adorable,” Leah decided with a grin. “She yours?”

He let out another sigh. “In a manner of speaking,” Mycroft commented. The woman suddenly looked terribly concerned and it occurred to him, the second she gave him that look, that he’d just managed to sound particularly creeper-like. Damn, now he’d actually _have_ to converse with her, if only to keep the woman from discreetly calling the police on her mobile.

“Mycroft Holmes,” he said, holding his hand out to shake hers. “And while I do claim that ridiculous little girl who waved over here, I’m not her father. She’s my sister.”

Leah shook his hand, looking a bit more relaxed now. “No, really? That’s your name? Serious?”

“I’m well aware it’s odd, there’s not need to call my attention to it,” Mycroft replied wryly.

The woman blushed just a bit. “Sorry. Just… odd. But you’re odd over all. Do you realize how out of place you look? How do you keep up with a little one dressed to the nine’s like that?”

“Oh, believe me, this is the last place I want to be right now,” he admitted with a sigh. “Park duty isn’t my responsibility normally. I wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion when the nuclear meltdown occurred in the entry of our home.”

Leah laughed long and hard. “I like your sense of humor. That one’s mine,” she said, pointing Matthew out. “In a manner of speaking; I’m his nanny.”

Mycroft’s upper lip curled slightly at her use of his own phrasing. “That sounds like a particularly dreadful occupation. If he’s anything like my sister, you have my deepest sympathies. Don’t let the adorable factor fool you, she’s a hellion already and she’s only four. I live in fear of the years to come.”

At just that moment the hellion in question was getting ready to jump off the top of a particularly tall slide, rather than go down it properly. “ROSE!” Mycroft bellowed. “Don’t even think about it!”

“But it’s for science!” the little girl whined.

“Wait, what did she say?” Leah asked.

“No, it’s not Rose! That’s not a legitimate excuse for misbehavior and you know it!” Mycroft responded. “She just claimed it’s ‘for science.’ Our brother is a budding scientist, he’s fifteen and that’s his answer for everything. ‘Why in God’s name are there toes in the refrigerator?’ ‘For science!’ ‘Why is there a gaping hole in the sitting room rug?’ ‘But it was for science!’ Now she says that as her excuse for everything as well. They’re bloody exhausting,” he grumbled.

“Toes in the fridge? Are you serious?” Leah asked her eyes wide. They grew even bigger when he nodded to confirm what she’d heard. “Where does he get toes and what does he want with them?”

“Questions I’ve learned not to ask,” Mycroft explained. He scowled darkly as he watched Rose lie on her back and slide down the slide. “Rose! You sit on your bottom when you go down the slide and you know it!”

“Sherlock lets me!” the little girl called back. “He does it too!”

Mycroft groaned. “Of course he does,” he muttered under his breath. “Well I said no! Play appropriately or we’ll leave! Mother will have my head if you manage to crack your head open on my watch!” Even from where he sat on the bench, he could see Rose’s face light up. “That was NOT a suggestion! You WILL NOT actively seek out ways to crack your head open!”

“Does everyone in your family have weird names?” Leah asked. “Although Rose is nice and normal.”

“The name Rose is short for isn’t,” Mycroft commented, making her laugh.

“So I’m curious,” Leah began, moving a bit closer to him on the bench. “Are you over here because it’s easier to watch her from here, or because you’re avoiding all the people at the other benches?”

An eyebrow arched. “You’re rather impertinent, aren’t you?”

Leah shrugged and smiled. “Just a question. I came over here to make sure you weren’t a creep,” she admitted. “I’m glad you aren’t. I’m not certain the police would’ve believed me if I called to report an incredibly well dressed, waistcoat wearing creep at the park.”

Mycroft’s lip curled again. “For all you know I might have been undercover here at the park.”

“The point of undercover is to be inconspicuous, yeah? You’re very, _very_ noticeable, Mycroft,” Leah challenged, unable to keep a cheeky grin from her face. “And so is the cutie pie you’re with.”

At just that moment, Rose came running across the playground towards Mycroft and threw herself at him. It was lucky for her that Mycroft had had a significant amount of practice at catching silly little girls. He caught her, tossed her up in the air, and then caught her again.

“Are you tired already?” he asked hopefully. Not that the present conversation was torturous by any means, but still, Mycroft wasn’t a fan of the park.

Rose shook her head, making her curls bounce. “No. I missed you,” she announced, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder. Her little hands took a firm grip of his suit jacket as she snuggled close.

“How could you possibly miss me? I haven’t gone anywhere,” Mycroft point out, resting his cheek on top of her head.

“I did. You were far, far away over here,” Rose whinged just a bit. Her attention, however, was fully focused on the woman sitting by her big brother.

“Hello sweetheart,” Leah greeted. “Are you having a lovely time?”

Rose’s eyes narrowed and she let out a little “hmph,” in response.

“You’re not shy Rose,” Mycroft chuckled. “Answer her nicely, please.” His sister was reasonably well-mannered and it always pleased him to no end when she managed to show off those manners.

“Go away,” Rose told Leah. “Don’t like you, go away!” She stuck her tongue out in added emphasis and then buried her face against Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Oh no,” Mycroft said sternly. “You don’t get to be rude and then hide your face. That was _very_ rude Rosenwyn Holmes and I know you know that it was.” He gently pried her away from his shoulder and sat her in his lap, then tipped her chin up so she could look at him. “Apologize Rose,” Mycroft ordered. “Apologize to Leah for being unpleasant.”

Rose promptly raised her chin defiantly in a silent refusal to do what she was told. Mycroft responded with a light, warning pinch to her leg. “Are you really going to have a strop at the park and ruin your nice morning? I haven’t raised you to be a rude little monster and this is your last chance, Rose. Apologize or we’re going home.”

The little girl looked over at Leah, completely ignoring the woman’s friendly smiled. “He’s my My and you can’t have him!” she shouted. Rose even put her hands on her little hips for emphasis, the way Mummy did when she meant business.

Leah’s eyes went wide. “Oh, honey! I’m not trying to take him away! Whatever made you think that?” she wondered. “I just thought he might like someone to chat with while you played, that’s all. No reason to worry.”

Rosenwyn Holmes was not to be appeased. “Well he doesn’t want any goldfish so you just go away forever and ever because we don’t like you and we don’t need you!”

Leave it to Rose to not only overhear him make such a comment, but know precisely what he meant by it. Either she had heard it repeatedly or she was considerably smarter than he gave her credit for. That, however, was an issue for another day.

“And that is the end of your time at the park,” Mycroft scolded harshly as he stood up from the bench. “If you open your mouth and are rude even one more time before we get home, you’re getting a smacked bottom, do you hear me?” Mycroft had yet to ever give her more than one or two firm swats on the behind before and hoped she wouldn’t push enough that he’d be forced to give her an actual spanking.

The littlest Holmes opened her mouth once again but it was not to strop, but to cry instead. She pressed her face against his shoulder once again as Mycroft turned to give Leah an apologetic look and bid her goodbye. With a put-upon sigh, he carried his crying little sister home from the park and straight up to her bedroom.

“Are you going to tell me what all that mess was about?” he demanded after putting her on her bed. “And you will speak respectfully—nicely,” Mycroft clarified as he sat down beside her. Immediately Rose tried to cuddle up again but he gently removed her little fists from his shirt and kept her at arm’s length. “We can have a good long cuddle when you explain your behavior at the park. I honestly don’t understand it, Rose, so please tell me what was wrong.”

When it was clear that Mycroft wasn’t going to let her hide her face any longer, she reached for Teddy and hugged her as tightly as she could. “I don’t want you to go away,” Rose told him in a tiny voice.

“Go away? Where exactly am I going?” Mycroft felt very confused just then.

Rose sniffled and averted her eyes, finding Teddy much easier to look at than her big brother. “With the lady.”

That explained exactly nothing at all, he couldn’t help but think. “Where do you think I’m going with the lady and why do you think that?”

“Mummy tolded me-”

“Told,” Mycroft corrected.

“Told,” Rose echoed. “Mummy told me about when she and Daddy met each other. They were at a park and they saw each other and fell in love and then they got a house and lived happily ever after. I don’t want you to live happily ever after without ME!”

Well if that wasn’t the cutest, yet most ridiculous thing, Mycroft didn’t know what was. “Mother and Father were friends for a very, very long time before they got married. They didn’t just leave from the park and go straight to a church,” he tried to explain. “But none of that even matters because I don’t want any of that.”

“Any what?” Rose asked, looking at him curiously.

“Marriage or a woman or anything else like that,” Mycroft said in a moment of completely honesty. The reasons why were too complicated for a four year old to understand, naturally, but that didn’t make the statement any less truthful. “I have you and I think that’s plenty.” Rose was, in fact, enough emotional entanglement for him and could present a security risk all on her own, let alone a wife and children. There was no length he wouldn’t go in order to keep her safe and no measure he wouldn’t take to ensure she didn’t become collateral damage of his increasingly difficult job.

Rose’s eyes went wide and her mouth hung open for several seconds before she responded. “I’m plenty? Just me, only me? Honest?”

Mycroft nodded and, despite his displeasure at her rudeness, found himself pulling her close for a cuddle. “I promise. You’re plenty, just as you are.”

“Even when I’m not nice?” she asked earnestly. “Even when you’re mad at me?”

“Even then,” he assured her. “Always. You’ll always be plenty, just as you are. I don’t need anything more,” he whispered. Mycroft smiled as she made a little sound of contentment.

“You’re all I need too. I told Mummy I wanted to marry you when I grow up, but she said that’s just not done,” Rose admitted.

He couldn’t help but laugh loudly at that. “I am terribly flattered, poppet, but Mother is right, that’s just not done. You’ll understand when you’re bigger.”

“I am a big girl!” Rose exclaimed, sounding completely affronted at the implication that she wasn’t.

“Oh you are, you’re getting to be a very big girl poppet,” Mycroft assured her. “But you have many more years to grow still. You’re only four.”

“Hmph! Only,” she grumbled, but snuggled close just the same. “Four is very big.”

Mycroft smiled, remembering how tiny Rose had been the day she was born and compared that to now. “Four is very big indeed,” he soothed, rubbing circles on her back. “My very big girl.”

They sat quietly for a moment until a figure appeared in the doorway. “How was the park?” Sherlock asked, smirking at his older brother.

“It was fun but then not very much fun. I wanted to do things for science and My said _no_ and then I thought a lady was going to steal him away forever and I shouted at her and then My made me come home,” Rose told Sherlock in a rush.

“A lady was going to steal Mycroft away?!” Sherlock asked, his eyes widening comically. “And you said no, she couldn’t have him? Why did you do that?!”

“Because he’s my My and I don’t like to share,” she announced with a bright grin that matched Sherlock’s.

“Well, I suppose you have a point there. Sharing is dull,” Sherlock decided. He held his arms out for her and Rose scampered off Mycroft’s lap and ran over to him. When he scooped her up, Rose snuggled close. “So you were trying to do things for science?” he asked, walking out of the bedroom with her.

“Yes. My said I couldn’t try to crack my head open and then I thought that would be a very brilliant ‘speriment, but then he said no. But it was for science,” Rose whined, wrapping her little arms around his neck.

“Mycroft just doesn’t understand,” Sherlock decided, shaking his head. “Good thing you have me, too, hmm?”

“Yes! You’re mine too and you can’t go to the park and meet any lady and get married like Mummy did, ok?” Rose asked.

“Of course not, that sounds terrible! Whatever would I do with a lady? You’re much more fun,” Sherlock assured her.

Rose giggled and kissed his cheek.

“Let’s go think up something brilliant to do that will give Mycroft gray hair, hm?” Sherlock suggested.

The little girl squealed with delight at the idea and the two hurried off to discuss some masterful plans for making their big brother miserable.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked me the other day if I had a tumblr and I said no. I don’t know if I’m interesting enough to have a tumblr all about me, but I had an idea: tumblr on Rose stuff? Good idea? Bad idea? Gimme your thoughts please!
> 
> Also, I know I owe you all a chapter in Rose Blooms, but this popped into my head and I wrote like the wind. Will get to Rose Blooms ASAP!


	15. Big Bang

“No, Sherlock, _no_ ,” Mycroft ground out. “This is the very last time you damage the dining room or work with potentially unstable or dangerous things with Rose in the same room as you.”

“But I’m okay,” Rose pointed out with a smile.

Mycroft glanced over at the little girl who was practically attached to Sherlock’s leg, why he didn’t even care to know. “I am not in need of your assistance, Rose. Please be quiet.” The sad puppy face she gave him in response did not deter him in the slightest. “There is no need for you to conduct experiments with _fire_ in the dining room, Sherlock, let alone do such a thing while Rose is with you.”

“I was helping,” Rose pointed out earnestly. “I was the assistant scientist.”

“That doesn’t make me less angry at Sherlock, Rose. It only makes me angrier with him because he shouldn’t have allowed you anywhere near any type of flammables at all,” Mycroft replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is there a reason why you are here right now, Rose?”

The little girl nodded and held onto Sherlock even tighter. “Yes, because you’re being very mean and I don’t want you to be mean to Sherlock. We were just playing.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Rose was definitely not being helpful just then. “Rose, why don’t you find Mummy and read to her? I’m sure she’d love it if you did that. I’ll play with you again later.”

Rose looked up at him, frowning a bit. “You come get me if he’s mean and I’ll kick him, ok?” She then turned to look at her other brother. “Don’t be mean or I’ll come kick you.”

“If you do, I’ll spank you,” Mycroft retorted. “And don’t use that tone with me either. Now go find Mother before I decide you need a spanking as well.”

“Okay, you win,” Rose huffed. She carefully kept herself out of Mycroft’s reach just in case he changed his mind before scampering away.

“As well?” Sherlock asked as soon as she was out of hearing range.

“You cannot possibly think I’m going to let that go,” Mycroft commented, an eyebrow raised. “At times you’re very slow, Sherlock.” His tone was deliberately mocking. “I don’t care about the damage to the dining room, as I’m well used to it. You’ve been damaging things since the moment you were born, though Mother is a bit upset about the curtains.

“No, what I’m concerned about, brother mine, is your utter lack of judgment. How _dare_ you involve Rose in any experiment that involves flammable liquids and the real potential of creating a fire? No, no, don’t say a word,” Mycroft interrupted, holding up a hand to silence his brother. “I don’t want to hear even a word of ‘It was under control’ or ‘It wasn’t really that bad’ or any other pathetic excuse you have to offer me. My study Sherlock. _Now_. _”_

\-------------------------------------

Five minutes later, after a blistering but brief scolding on being a responsible big brother, Sherlock was bent over Mycroft’s desk, trousers and pants around his knees. The pink flush of his face was the only outward sign of his discomfort. Sherlock never liked to give Mycroft the satisfaction of actually getting a reaction from him. His jaw was set in determination and the nearly seventeen-year-old braced himself for the coming spanking. Sherlock inwardly groaned when he saw his older brother extract a heavy wooden paddle from _the_ drawer of his desk.

A moment later, pain blossomed as the paddle struck his left check. Sherlock closed his eyes tightly as Mycroft smacked the paddle down in the exact same place before moving to the right cheek, repeating the double smack. Then the paddle fell across the middle of his bottom three times before beginning the pattern again.

“You’re a boring and predictable spanker Mycroft,” Sherlock grumbled as he struggled to keep from moving. That paddle stung and burned and his bum was on fire by the time the pattern started over and if Sherlock wasn’t going to wiggle in response to the pain, he was at least going to get in a dig or two against Mycroft.

Mycroft, however, was not in the mood for Sherlock’s impudence and landed several harsh blows on his younger brother’s upper thighs. The paddle drew an unexpected squeak from the teen that was followed by grunting against the pain until Mycroft returned the paddle to his brother’s bum. “I don’t enjoy doing this Sherlock--”

“Liar,” Sherlock growled, gripping the desk even tighter. He began blinking back the tears gathering in his eyes in response to the continued _smack smack smack_ of the paddle.

“You’re getting to be rather old for this sort of thing, don’t you think?” Mycroft continued on, as if he hadn’t heard Sherlock’s accusation. “It’s high time you grow up a bit and begin taking your responsibilities a little more seriously. But, until you manage to do that, putting Rose in danger will earn you a spanking _every single time_.” The last three swats were particularly hard, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Sherlock that caused Mycroft to pause. His brother’s behind was a vivid scarlet, undoubtedly very sore, and he decided that was plenty.

“I’m well aware that there is no point in trying to stop your experiments,” Mycroft commented as he put the paddle back into his desk drawer. “So I won’t even bother. Rather, we shall compromise.”

Sherlock, red-faced and verging on tears, righted his clothing and desperately fought the urge to rub his sore, red bottom. “What did you have in mind?”

“Father’s study has been empty for quite some time now and I don’t see why you cannot set up your more dangerous experiments in that room. It has a lock on the door that will enable you to keep Rose out and therefore away from harm,” Mycroft pointed out. “I don’t want her anywhere near your more dangerous experiments Sherlock and Mother and I would both prefer that you not damage the house any further. Anything not potentially dangerous, you’ll still be welcome to do in the dining room with Rose as your very eager little assistant. But consider yourself warned, Sherlock. Put her in danger again, accidentally or not, and that paddling will feel like a tickle.”

\-----------------------------------------------

The very next day Sherlock set up his more ‘delicate’ experiments in a vacant room upstairs, with Mycroft’s blessing. Rose, however, had not been pleased with this development and the five (and a half!) year old had made her displeasure abundantly known.

“BUT I WANT TO HELP SHERLOCK IN HIS NEW ROOM!” Rose shrieked at Mycroft, stomping several times to emphasize her unhappiness. “I am very helpful and I am very, very big now! It’s not fair My, it’s not!”

Knowing Rose was a mere minute away from getting her bottom smacked for the rather epic tantrum she was in the midst of throwing, Sherlock quickly intervened between his little sister and his scowling older brother. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he turned the little girl around to face him. As soon as Rose looked at her big brother, she burst into tears and held her arms out to him and was immediately gathered up in a hug.

“I just wanna help because it’s so much fun,” Rose explained through her sobs before burying her face in Sherlock’s shoulder. The brothers exchanged looked over the top of her head and Mycroft retreated back downstairs, allowing Sherlock to cuddle and soothe the upset little girl.

“I know Rosie, I know,” Sherlock murmured, swaying a bit with her in his arms. “And you’re a very wonderful help! I love having you as my helper, and we can still work together, I promise. But sometimes bad things happen when I experiment, don’t they?”

Though she didn’t look up from his shoulder, he could feel her nodding and rested his cheek on top of her silky curls. “Mycroft and I don’t want you to get hurt Rosie, because we love you very much and we would cry so much if you got hurt,” Sherlock explained, his tone gentle and soothing. “You can still help me with plenty of experiments. I wouldn’t ever stop doing experiments with you, because you’re a wonderful helper. It’s more fun if I have you to help me. But we don’t want you to get hurt, so when it might be dangerous, I’ll work in my new room so that I can keep you safe. That makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Rose lifted her head from his shoulder, raising her tear-stained face to his. “Promise? Promise we can still do experiments together and you still want to play with me and everything?”

Sherlock kissed her nose. “Promise. But you’ll have to be very good and not try to come into my new room if I’m working in there, alright? Can you promise be good and not go in there, so that you stay safe?” And so that his bottom would be safe, Sherlock couldn’t help but silently add.

“Promise,” Rose assured him.

\---------------------------------------------

Rose’s promise turned out to be difficult to keep. Each day when Sherlock disappeared into his experiment room, she wanted very desperately to go in there too. It still wasn’t fair and Rose knew Sherlock would keep her safe, even if meanie Mycroft didn’t know it or believe it. Sure, Sherlock still did some experiments in the dining room with her, but all the cool stuff was in the room she couldn’t go in and Rose knew it! Not only did she know it, but it was driving the five and a half year old crazy.

For the first week, Rose was very good. She didn’t try to follow Sherlock, she didn’t whine or cry or strop about it, just watched him go in there with as dramatic a sigh as she could muster. Rose wanted to be good for Sherlock, she really, really did. Rose knew that promises were _very_ important and she didn’t want to disappoint her big brother. But it was _so_ very hard!

By the second week Rose was waging a campaign of sad puppy faces against Sherlock’s resolve in keeping her from the experiment room. Despite his best efforts, Sherlock was in fact affected by her adorable yet sad looks. Though his resolve waivered on the inside, he was very resolute on the outside.

“You have to stop looking at me like that Rose. It’s not going to make me change my mind,” he said gently one afternoon as he picked her up for a cuddle.

“Are you sure?” Rose asked. “Because I could try to look sadder or cuter, and maybe it would work Sherlock,” the little girl pointed out hopefully.

Sherlock kissed her cheeks. “I don’t think you could possibly manage to look cuter than you are already or sadder than you’ve looked about the experiment room,” he whispered in her ear. “But we’ll both get into trouble if I let you in there, Rose. It’s safer for you not to be in there and you _know_ how Mycroft gets about safety.”

“Yes. Ouch,” Rose whimpered, recalling her first spanking from Mycroft. It had happened just a month prior and safety had been the paramount issue at hand in what had since been referred to as ‘The Balcony Incident.’

He chuckled and gave her a smile. “Quite right. Ouch. I don’t want you to get in trouble again and I know you don’t want a smacked bottom again, do you?”

Rose shook her head, sending her curls bouncing from the movement. “No, no!”

“So you’ll be good and stay out of that room, no matter what, right?” Sherlock clarified. “And be safe?”

“Okay, I will be safe. But I don’t have to like it,” Rose decided with a pout.

“That’s true, you don’t have to like it,” he agreed, chuckling a bit.

“Oh Rose, do give Sherlock a break from all your ridiculous pouting,” Mycroft grumbled as he spotted them cuddling and whispering in the hallway.

“Jealous, Mycroft? That I get all the cuddles?” Sherlock challenged.

“Hardly,” the eldest Holmes replied with a scowl.

“My gets cuddles too, Sherlock,” Rose admitted. When Sherlock leaned down to whisper in her ear, she giggled and nodded. When he set her down on the floor, Rose ran towards Mycroft and attached herself to his leg. She proceeded to look up at him with the biggest grin, her eyes bright with merriment.

“Really, must we do this?” Mycroft grumbled, even as he picked her up and snuggled her close. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Dunno. I’m hungry, can we eat? I want to eat ice cream.”

“You _always_ want to eat ice cream. It’s not its own food group Rose, and your persistence in trying to make it one won’t materialize,” Mycroft warned as they headed downstairs.

“Um… Does that mean yes or no?” Rose asked, sounding confused. “I’m going to say it’s a yes, ok? Yay! Ice cream time!”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I’m getting you ice cream for the sole reason that I want you to shut up already.” He winked, alerting Rose to the fact that he was teasing. Mycroft even smiled when Rose began giggling crazily.

\--------------------------------------------------

As any child faced with a shiny object or a forbidden place or activity was want to do, Rose’s curiosity and determination were certain to compel her to find a way into Sherlock’s special room. One day, the opportunity to gain entry to the room came upon her completely unexpected.

Sitting in her playroom, rocking a dolly to sleep in her rocking chair, she could see the door of the experiment room from inside the playroom. She watched with great interest as Sherlock quickly exited the room in question and headed into the bathroom, not stopping to lock the door behind him as he normally did. That meant the door, while closed, was not locked.

Without even a second of hesitation, Rose dropped her dolly on the floor and ran to the forbidden room, carefully turning the knob and letting herself in. Her eyes lit up at as saw the different chemicals and items that were bubbling and doing very interesting things. Shutting the door behind her, she approached the table and climbed into Sherlock’s chair to peer at the items.

“I can show Sherlock I’m a big girl and know exactly what I’m doing all the time,” Rose murmured, reaching out for a vial of liquid. Her mind quickly labeled each of the liquids on the table, or so she thought, and Rose decided to add the contents of the vial in her hand to one that was already bubbling, thinking it would turn a pretty color and create bubbles that she could play with. They had done that experiment once and it had been so much fun!

After dumping all of the liquid from the vial into the bubbling mixture, Rose watched in horror as it began bubbling in what could only be described as very, very bad way. She might have mentally labeled all the elements wrong, but Rose was definitely smart enough to know when to get out of harm’s way! Rose leaped off the chair and ran out into the hallway just as Sherlock emerged from the bathroom. Before he could say a word the mixture exploded with enough force to rattle everything in that part of the house. One of the windows shattered, part of the table was sizzling under the dripping mix, and there was a massive black mark on the ceiling, from which little bits of plaster were falling onto the table.

This was _very_ not good. It was about to get even _more_ not good.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!” Mycroft thundered as he took the stairs two at a time. His face went from angry to one full of murderous intent upon seeing Sherlock and Rose in the hallway with the door of the experiment room wide open. “Someone start explaining this immediately,” he growled, peeking in the room to survey the extent of the damage. It was definitely damaged, but repairable. That did not, however, exempt the person responsible for it from punishment.

Sherlock and Rose exchanged a look, both silent as Mycroft looked into the room before turning on them. It didn’t escape Mycroft’s notice that Rose looked downright petrified, which to his mind meant she was likely the culprit responsible for the mess.

“Did you go in Sherlock’s room, Rosenwyn? Were you in there playing with things and cause all that damage?” he demanded, standing over the little girl with his arms crossed.

Rose stared at him like a deer in headlights, the color draining from her face. Mycroft was very, _very_ angry.

“ANSWER ME!” Mycroft shouted at her.

“No! No I didn’t!” Rose blurted out in response to the shouting. Her eyes were wide and full of panic and her response was followed by a little whimper. While she could shriek and scream with the best of them, being shouted at by adults had always frightened her a bit. Mycroft, however, took no notice of the look of sheer panic on her face.

Sherlock, on the other hand, most definitely did notice. Within the space of a few seconds, a decision was made. “It was my fault,” he interjected, causing Mycroft to stop glaring at the littlest Holmes and turn his wrath on him instead.

“And how did it happen exactly? I’m particularly interested in the part where the door is unlocked and our sister is here in the bloody hallway next to the door!” Mycroft thundered.

“Spilled something on myself, went to wash up, forgot to close and lock the door. Things happened while I was washing,” Sherlock retorted at lightning speed.

“And Rose?”

“Frightened by the noise, came looking for me.”

Mycroft scrutinized his brother carefully, looking for a sign that Sherlock was lying. Generally he was quite good at determining whether or not Sherlock was being truthful. When he could find no obvious indication of deception, he nodded curtly. “Then I think you know where we’re headed next, brother mine. Rose, go play in the sitting room, I’m not certain it’s safe to be up here just now. Sherlock will sort it out in a bit, won’t you, Sherlock?”

“Yes, I will,” Sherlock answered, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach. Mycroft was going to have his head on a platter and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it and the lack of options was far more nerve wracking than he let on. The only alternative was to admit he’d lied and let Rose take the blame and while his sister had done exactly what she’d promised not to, Sherlock was not going to turn her over to Mycroft to be shouted at and spanked.

The little girl watched in horror as Sherlock and Mycroft descended the stairs, with her hot on their heels, and went straight into My’s study.

\------------------------------------------

Mycroft shut the door of the study behind them and crossed the room to his desk. “I don’t think we need to spend time with a lecture, do you? We both know why we’re here, don’t we?”

Sherlock swallowed hard and nodded, determined to be brave for Rose’s sake. His bravado nearly faltered however, when Mycroft removed a strap from the drawer of his desk. “Mycroft!”

“I don’t want to hear it. I warned you last time that the consequences would be greater if it happened again. Even if Rose wasn’t in the room with you, she could have been, because you didn’t lock the door behind you. That’s carelessness Sherlock, and I won’t tolerate it. Period. You know what to do,” Mycroft said, giving his brother a look.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock pushed his trousers and pants to his knees and bent over the desk, trying to brace himself as he always did. He’d never been strapped before and he didn’t want to be, but this was what a big brother would do right? Rose was just little and curious, she never meant to cause trouble, and he didn’t want her to get a spanking.

Unaware of the thoughts swirling in his brother’s head, Mycroft took a deep breath of his own and then brought the strap down with a resounding _smack_ across Sherlock’s bottom. The sound of it in the room was loud and even disconcerted _him_ for a moment, but Mycroft was determined to teach Sherlock a lesson. Since he hadn’t bothered to learn last time, Mycroft had to be tougher on him this time. Eventually, Sherlock would understand, learn, and not repeat; or so Mycroft hoped at any rate.

The strap fell again and again, snapping across his cheeks, causing Sherlock to suck in his breath as lines of fire spread across his bum. It was more and more difficult to keep still and by the eighth smack, he was squirming and groaning under his breath. Four more and he was nearly in tears, stomping his feet to try and relieve some of the sting. By eighteen, Sherlock was outright sobbing and holding on to the desk for everything he was worth.

The sound of sobs, something he hadn’t heard from Sherlock in a while, caused Mycroft to immediately stop. That had been plenty, clearly, and while he hadn’t hurt his brother- something he would never do- he knew Sherlock’s bum was hot, sore and probably felt like it was on fire. There was no need to continue; the lesson had obviously been well learnt. “Alright, we’re done,” Mycroft said, hoping to be heard over Sherlock’s tears. “We’re done and you took that very well Sherlock.”

Almost without realizing he was doing so, Mycroft reached out and began to rub Sherlock’s back, trying to soothe him the way he had when Sherlock was little. “I forgive you Sherlock. It’s alright, we’re all done.” He was almost surprised to find how much it bothered him to hear Sherlock crying this way, and did his best to comfort his well-spanked brother in a way he hadn’t done in a very long time.

\----------------------------------------------

Rose had been waiting in the sitting room on pins and needles, looking in the direction of her oldest brother’s study. They were taking _forever_ which only made her feel worse that she’d gotten Sherlock in trouble. When he finally emerged, tears on his face and gingerly rubbing his backside, she felt like the worst sister in the whole wide world. Part of Rose wanted to run over and hug him while another part of her didn’t, fearing he wouldn’t like her anymore now that she’d got him in so much trouble.

Silently she watched him make his way back upstairs, rubbing his bum the whole way, her stomach churning from all the guilt she felt. When he disappeared from her sight, Rose curled up on the couch and cried into a pillow, which was precisely where Mycroft found her an hour later when he emerged from his study.

“Rose? What’s the matter?” Mycroft asked, sitting down beside her. “Why are you crying?”

“All my fault, My! I did it! It’s all my fault!” the tiny girl sobbed out before crawling onto his lap and pressing her face against his chest.

Dread settled heavily in Mycroft’s stomach. Had he really just punished Sherlock for _nothing_? That had been a quite a strapping, even for an almost seventeen-year-old, in direct proportion to the transgression… or rather the transgression Sherlock had let him believe had been committed.

Mycroft’s arms automatically went around her and one hand began rubbing her back in a soothing manner. “What did you do, Rose? What’s your fault?” he asked, trying to get to the truth of the matter. He hoped against hope that she would confess something unrelated to the experiment room fiasco.

“I went in there My,” the little girl sobbed. “I went in there and put the liquid in the bubbly stuff and then it blew up!”

Damn, Mycroft thought. “Rose, you must calm down. We need to discuss this. Take some deep breaths and try to stop crying.” He waited (mostly) patiently while the five year old got her tears under control. “Why did you do that Rose? Did you forget the rules?”

She shook her head, looking quite miserable. “No. I wanted to help and show you I could but it didn’t go right at all.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” he grumbled. “So not only did you break the rule about going in that room, you played with substances you weren’t familiar with and did not have any supervision. Those are all very important rules, aren’t they?”

Another nod as Rose wiped her wet face with the sleeve of her shirt. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

Mycroft ignored the apology for the moment and continued on with reviewing the rules. “You also lied to me, didn’t you? And that’s _very_ naughty. You know we don’t tell lies, Rosenwyn. Why did you do it?”

“You were so very angry and shouting and I didn’t want to be in trouble,” Rose explained, pressing her face against his chest once more.

“Because you lied, Sherlock took all the blame and got a very big spanking,” Mycroft told her. “That’s really not acceptable Rose. I’m very, _very_ disappointed in your choices today, young lady. Now raise your head up and look at me.” He waited a moment and wasn’t entirely surprised when she didn’t do as he asked.

“Rosenwyn, look at me, right now,” Mycroft ordered sternly. His tone succeeded in convincing Rose she best do as she told and her sad little face looked up at him.

“You’re in a lot of trouble Rose. You broke many, many important rules today. Do you know what’s going to happen now?”

Rose sniffled and then made a little whiny noise but otherwise didn’t respond.

“Go find Sherlock and tell him to spank you,” Mycroft said firmly, setting Rose down on her feet. “Go on. Go find him and tell him that.”

“But I don’t wanna have a spanking!” Rose exclaimed, sounding about as distressed as she could possibly be.

“Then you should have made better choices today, Rosenwyn. You chose to be very naughty and there are consequences when you’re naughty. Now do as you’re told and find Sherlock. As in _right now_ , Rose.” Mycroft steeled his resolve as her little face crumpled up and she started to cry once more. “Do I need to count? One…” As soon as the word left his mouth, Rose ran off to find Sherlock.

\---------------------------------------

Sherlock was upstairs attempting to clean up his experiment room when a tearful Rose appeared in the doorway. “Rosie, what’s the matter?” he asked, crossing the room to pick her up. “Are you crying because I got in trouble? That’s no reason to cry at all.” Taking the blame had all been in the line of duty as her big brother.

Rose wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled close. “I’m sorry you got a very big spanking,” she whispered. “I told My that it was all my fault. I shoulda told him before you got in trouble.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sherlock assured her, rubbing her back. “Did you really tell Mycroft that it was your fault?” He couldn’t help but be impressed when she nodded. “That was very, very brave of you sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m very proud of you for telling the truth.” And he was, too, even if it was too late to save his arse.

“Not brave,” Rose countered.

Sherlock kissed the top of her head. “Yes it was brave and you won’t convince me otherwise. What did our bellowing brother say?”

“That I had to tell you to spank me,” she told him in a tiny voice before burying her face against his shoulder.

Her big brother stopped the gentle swaying he’d been doing to soothe her and stood perfectly still. Spank her? Him? Was Mycroft out of his mind?! That was not part of his job, he was the fun brother! Sherlock Holmes was _not_ going to spank his baby sister.

\----------------------------------------------

"No.”

Mycroft had anticipated this very reaction and thus calmly looked up from his laptop and raised an eyebrow at his brother. “Yes.”

“I don’t do that,” Sherlock said vehemently. “I’m the fun brother, you’re the mean one and I’m not going to do it.”

“So what then will she learn from this if you don’t?” Mycroft countered. “That it’s acceptable to lie? That it’s perfectly fine to play with substances without supervision or even knowing if they are safe to mix or not? That it’s proper to let someone else take the blame because you don’t want to be in trouble? Those aren’t good lessons to learn, Sherlock.”

Damn it, he hated when Mycroft was right. Absolutely _hated_ it. “No, I suppose we can’t let her take that away from today’s disaster,” Sherlock grumbled. “But why do I have to do it? And why does it have to be done at all? Isn’t there something else? She’s so… little, Mycroft.”

“I’m well aware of the fact that she’s little and rather adorable,” Mycroft responded. “We’ve had this conversation before Sherlock, after the balcony incident and nothing has changed in that regard. She might be young, but she could have been a very dead five and a half year old. We cannot let allow her to do whatever comes into her ridiculous little mind. Isn’t it better to make an impression _now_ then let her end up killing herself?”

Sherlock scowled darkly at his older brother, arms crossed over his chest. It was difficult to argue with that logic, admittedly, but he didn’t have to like it either.

“Rose needs to understand that there are boundaries and not everything that pops into her mind is a good idea. She’s going to end up hurting herself if she doesn’t learn to respect rules and consequences. Rose could have been very severely injured today and she doesn’t understand that,” Mycroft explained. “It’s our job to _make_ her understand.”

Sherlock huffed, still looking very displeased. “But why do I have to do it? Why can’t _you_ do it?”

“Because _you_ are the aggrieved party, not me,” Mycroft pointed out. “She went in your room, ruined your experiment, let _you_ take the blame for her actions. It only makes sense if it comes from you. Besides, the older she gets the more you’ll need to step into this sort of role with Rose. Might as well start now, brother mine.”

The eldest Holmes received a scowl for his efforts. “I don’t know how to do it,” Sherlock mumbled.

“We really have to go through all your pathetic objections and dismiss each one, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, letting out a sigh. “I don’t believe for a second that you don’t know how to give a spanking. You’ve certainly had enough of them throughout your life to have the general concept firmly implanted in that sharp mind of yours. Next excuse.”

Sherlock continued to scowl at his brother. “What if she cries?”

“Of course she’d going to cry,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “But crying from a spanking isn’t any different from any other form of crying. Comfort her the same way you always do and she’ll be just fine.”

“What if I hurt her?”

“That isn’t even remotely in the realm of things that I am concerned about,” Mycroft admitted. “Knowing you, you’ll probably give her soft little pats and skip the tears all together. Which you had better not do, Sherlock. We get one opportunity to instill this particular lesson; do try not to be a bleeding heart about it. Next.”

Mycroft was a little surprised to see his younger brother shuffling his feet a bit, which oddly enough reminded him of Rose when she was being scolded. It was almost sweet, the way the two siblings were so much alike. On the other hand, it was infinitely frightening as well, because god help him if Rose took after Sherlock as she continued to get older. “Spit it out Sherlock. I’m certain you have a very nervous little girl waiting for you upstairs,” he prodded.

“What if she doesn’t like me anymore?”

For some reason the half-whispered question was not one that Mycroft had expected. He should have, considering Sherlock’s close relationship with Rose and his unending comments about being the ‘fun’ brother. “Of course she’ll still like you Sherlock, and still love you,” he replied, not unkindly. “She’ll cry, you’ll comfort her, and everyone will still love everyone when it’s done. She still likes me, and I’ve been swatting her here and there for a couple years _and_ dealt with the balcony incident.”

“Well if she still loves _you_ then of course she’ll love me,” Sherlock decided. “After all, you’re rather awful.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Go sort out our sister and try not to make a mess of it. And Sherlock?” He waited until he had his younger brother’s attention once more. “I’ll make certain to investigate better next time, rather than… well…” Apologizing was so awful; _pedestrian_ even.

“Rather than spank first, ask questions later?” Sherlock offered. He smirked when Mycroft’s face reddened a bit. “How about next time you make a better effort to control your natural proclivity to bellow? Don’t bellow so much around the baby, Mycroft, it upsets her. She might have been truthful had you not been such an ogre.”

\--------------------------------------------------

Rose was right where Sherlock had left her, sitting on her bed where he’d sent her to think while he’d gone to attempt to sway Mycroft. He crossed the little girl’s room and picked her up from the bed, then sat and put her in his lap. “Good girl,” he praised. “You can listen so well, I know you can. Have you been thinking, like I asked?” He smiled when she nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Tell me what you were thinking about.”

“That I’m sorry; very, very sorry,” Rose murmured, nestling against his chest.

Sherlock smiled and began running his fingers through her hair. “That is the perfect place to start thinking! Can you tell me what you’re sorry for?”

Rose was silent for thirty seconds or so, while one hand began to play with the buttons on his button-up, a by now well-established part of the scolding or talking process with both her brothers. “I made lots of bad choices, and I got you in very big trouble.”

“Mmhm, that’s right,” Sherlock agreed. “Can you tell me what those choices were?”

“All of them?” Rose squeaked, looking up at him anxiously.

“Yes, all of them, but I won’t shout at you. We’re going to talk nicely and calmly about it,” Sherlock assured her.

She seemed satisfied with that answer and nodded, turning her attention back to the buttons. “I went in your experiment room, even though I’m not allowed. I played with your things and made the house get broken ‘cause I shouldn’t have mixed those liquids. I thought they were okay together, but they weren’t,” Rose admitted quietly. “Then I lied to My because I didn’t want to get in trouble, and he was shouting at me.”

Her big brother nodded, continuing to run his fingers through her curly hair. “We made those rules, Mycroft and I, to keep you safe. You could have been very hurt today Rose, maybe even been in hospital. We don’t want that for you,” Sherlock explained quietly. “We want you to be safe at all times. Also, we don’t want you to tell lies, because we want to be able to trust you when you say things. Things will always be easier if you just tell the truth and you won’t be in nearly as much trouble if you’re honest.”

“But what if Mycroft’s yelling?” Rose asked before pressing her face against his chest.

“Then come tell me,” Sherlock automatically responded. “And you don’t think Mycroft is going to hurt you, do you?” He didn’t think so, but he wanted to make sure.

“No! No, ‘course not,” she automatically replied.

He nodded and kissed the top of head. He’d just assumed it was because Mycroft was so tall and loud that it made her feel very small, which wasn’t particularly hard to do, considering she _was_ so small to begin with. “If you don’t want to tell Mycroft something, you come tell me. Always be honest with me Rose. I can’t keep you safe and happy if you aren’t honest. Promise you won’t lie to me anymore.”

She looked up at him with that sweet little face and nodded. “Promise.”

Damn Mycroft, Sherlock thought to himself. How was he supposed to spank her, when she was so sweet? This was going to kill him, he was sure of it. Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment, reminding himself of the post-disaster state of the experiment room and the potential for Rose to have seriously hurt himself. It gave him the determination he needed to see this through.

“Then I think it’s time for your spanking,” Sherlock said quietly, trying to keep his voice even. After pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he carefully maneuvered her so she was face down over his lap in the traditional spanking position. He was struck hard by just how _small_ she looked over his knees, such a tiny thing. He hadn’t even swatted her yet and already Sherlock felt like a brute.

Then Rose started to sniffle, more out of unhappiness at where she presently found herself than anything else, he knew, but that didn’t make it any easier for her reluctant big brother. “You must always, always be safe and follow the rules that keep you safe. You must also always tell me the truth,” Sherlock lectured in a gentle tone. He carefully tugged her shorts down to her knees and cringed as she actually started to cry.

Leaving her pants in place, he rested his hand on her bum and was utterly dismayed to see that it pretty much covered her entire bottom. Sherlock took a deep breath to steady himself, already feelings the twinges of regret. “Every time you lie Rosenwyn, you’ll get a spanking. Especially when you lie to me. I won’t tolerate that. Do you understand?” The words jumped out of his mouth almost of their own accord, taking Sherlock a bit by surprise, but he definitely meant them.

“Yes! I’m sorry!” Rose told him through her tears. Her tiny hands held on to the leg of his trousers as she waited anxiously over his knee.

Sherlock raised his hand and brought it down with a sharp smack across the seat of her pants. The heartfelt “Owww!” That accompanied it nearly killed him, he was sure of it. Still, he couldn’t stop now, not if this was going to be meaningful. Damn Mycroft, he thought once more before giving her another two swats. She cried out again and started wriggling, but Sherlock had a good hold on her to make certain she didn’t fall off. Ten ought to do it, he thought to himself. That meant seven more. Could they both make it?

Deciding not to prolong the agony of this for either of them, Sherlock landed the other seven swats in quick succession, his hand even catching the tender junction where her bottom met her thigh. Her bum was pink and undoubtedly sore, but still firmly attached and she’d live to misbehave another day, Sherlock though when the final swat landed.

Immediately Sherlock scooped his sobbing sister up in his arms, letting her shorts fall away onto the floor as he cradled her against his chest. His mind raced to find the right words to comfort her and immediately summoned memories of his mother’s words post-spanking when he’d been the one getting a smacked bottom. “Shhh, it’s alright now,” Sherlock soothed, beginning to rock Rose in his arms. “All done now and you’re forgiven. Such a brave little girl you are. I’m so proud of you for being so brave for your spanking. I love you very, very much, Rose. You can cry as much as you need to, it’s alright.”

Sherlock rocked her and soothed her for what felt like ages, her tiny hands clasping on to his shirt as he did so. Finally her tears slowed down and he moved her away from him just a bit and began brushing her tears away. “You alright?” he asked gently. “Will you live to misbehave another day?” Relief flooded through him when Rose gave him a tiny smile.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m sorry Sherlock, I’m very sorry.” Rose rubbed her face against his chest and she smiled a bit more as he immediately cuddled her close again.

“I know you are and it’s all forgiven, I promise. You’re a very good girl, a very brave girl. I love you very much,” Sherlock whispered in her ear. He couldn’t help but notice how tired she looked, no doubt from all the anxiety and crying the afternoon had seen. “Sleepy?”

Rose nodded and nestled closer.

“Should we get you tucked into bed for a bit of rest?” he suggested, resting his cheek against her curly hair.

“Don’t go!” Rose whimpered. “Don’t go Sherlock.”

A smile settled on his face and this time he didn’t damn Mycroft for being right; Rose still loved him after all. “Of course not,” Sherlock promised. He stood up with her in his arms and pulled back the covers of her bed before sitting down and lying back against the mountain of pillows and stuffed animals. Keeping her cuddled against his chest, he covered them up, making sure Rose was snuggly tucked in.

“I love you,” Sherlock repeated, whispering once more into her ear.

“Love you too,” Rose replied as she closed her eyes.

\------------------------------------------------

An hour later, Mycroft made his way upstairs to check on his siblings. The sight that greeted him caused a smile to spread across his face as he looked at brother and sister, snuggled up together and fast asleep. “See Sherlock,” he whispered. “She still loves you.” It was possible there was hope yet for Sherlock as a co-parent of their rambunctious and ever curious little sister... maybe.


	16. Learning How to Parent Part 1

LEARNING HOW TO PARENT Part 1

Mycroft never lets an opportunity pass him by to disparage Sherlock’s parenting abilities. Lackadaisical, lenient, unhelpful are generally words, among others, he uses to describe Sherlock’s skills, or the implied lack thereof. Mycroft, however, only saw the Sherlock that was around when Mycroft himself was in the house, when Sherlock very willingly took a backseat in the parenting department. However, when the eldest Holmes wasn’t looking, Sherlock was slowly learning how to raise his little sister, one step at a time, developing his own unique style in his role as “co-parent” of the littlest Holmes. Born out of my “Its summer time, set the plot bunnies free!” mentality, comes a series of bits and pieces of Sherlock’s journey as a somewhat reluctant parental type figure.

\-------------------------------------------

LESSON LEARNED: PICK YOUR BATTLES

Sherlock sighed heavily as he took a tray of skin samples out to the rubbish bin on the curb. His plan to examine the effects of acid on different skin types, using samples from both men and women as well as varying races, was at an end before it even began. Mother was well and truly horrified by it and had banished the project to the bins.

“I really don’t understand why that’s necessary Sherlock. I’m not even going to ask where you got those… skin… things from,” Maud commented when her middle child returned to the house. “But that is disgusting and the smell is making me quite ill.”

The fourteen-year-old immediately felt badly for mentally complaining about throwing away his experiment. It was certainly not his intention to make Mother ill, particularly when she’d had a very good day health wise. “I’m sorry Mother,” he told her sincerely. “Why don’t you go lie down? I’ll watch Rose.”

“She’ll need to eat and be put to bed,” Maud cautioned. “Mycroft called earlier and he’ll be late tonight, you’ll be on your own.” Sherlock had turned out to be an exemplary big brother and more than able to keep an eye on his excitable sibling, having well learnt his lesson last spring. Though she no longer doubted his ability, Maud disliked having to put Rose’s care on her middle son’s shoulders.

“I can handle that. Honestly Mother, go rest, we’ll be fine. I’ll wake you if I need you,” Sherlock promised.

After Maud kissed her children goodnight and headed upstairs, Sherlock turned to his little sister with a smile. “Want to help me find some other things for my experiment?”

“Yes! I wanna help,” Rose told him emphatically. The three-year-old was always telling people she could help and trying to do things because she was a ‘big girl’ now.

Immediately a massive treasure hunt commenced for new materials, culminating in the siblings scouring the house from top to bottom and procuring a wide variety of items. First there was the cotton batting from a pillow in Mycroft’s room; it was an ugly pillow anyway, no one with eyes that worked would miss it. This was followed by a small patch of carpet from the sitting room that had been procured with a box cutter and the empty space was promptly covered by adjusting all the furniture in the room just a bit to the left. Sherlock was certain no one would notice the very slight movement.

A load of moldy bread also joined the cache of items for Sherlock’s experiment and created quite an adventure in its retrieval from the rubbish bin outside. Sherlock had gone into the bin and was sifting through that week’s trash when the garbage truck began its journey down the street, moving ever close to the Holmes’s bin.

“Lorry!” Rose shouted when she spotted it. “Lorry! It’s coming!” She bounced around and pointed at the approaching vehicle while Sherlock made a hasty exit from the bin. “Lorry! Lorry! Lorry!” A moment later she let out a screech of indignation when her big brother suddenly seized her hand and began moving her away from the curb. “Nooooooooooooooo! No no no no! Bad Sherlock, bad!”

 _Bad Sherlock?_ Clearly his sister spent too much time around Mycroft; that needed to be rectified as soon as possible. “Rose, we can’t stand there or the lorry is going to hit us,” Sherlock explained as he dragged the screeching toddler back a few feet, awed once more by the shrill nature of Rose’s protests. How such a tiny person was able to make such a massively loud and high pitched noise he wasn’t certain, but it was very interesting… for the first thirty seconds or so and then it was annoying and a bit painful. Despite her protests and attempts to pull away, Sherlock held onto her hand tightly, knowing Rose was far more likely to run and investigate the large truck than stay at his side if he didn’t. When the lorry moved on, they returned to the curb where Rose watched the truck finish the street, clapping enthusiastically when it turned off their road.

“Come on, let’s go look in the attic, we’ve got everything I need from the bins,” Sherlock told his little sister. “Have you ever been up in the attic?” When she shook her head no, he grinned brightly. “You’re in for a treat then Rosie!” He promptly took Rose inside and carried her up into the attic, pulling the steps up behind them so she couldn’t fall.

Once the steps were pulled up, Sherlock set her down and gave her a grin. “Alright Rosie, you dig wherever you want and I’ll look, too. Come show me anything you find that’s interesting.”

It didn’t take Rose long to find something interesting, but it was not something she could bring to her big brother, so it was a very good thing he was watching her! Rose’s eyes had settled on a steamer trunk with leather straps, the sort a person from the 19th century would have travelled with, but that detail was quite lost on the toddler. All Rose knew is that it was very interesting!

She closed the distance between herself and the trunk and ran her hands over it, eyes wide, her tongue sticking out just a bit in concentration, almost as if she was trying to read the trunk, _deduce_ things from the trunk even. Sherlock grinned with pride at the thought of Rose, just a month short of being three, was already showing signs of deduction capabilities and attention to details.

“Do you like the trunk?” Sherlock asked, moving to stand beside her.

“Yes,” she said, rubbing her hands on the leather straps of the trunk before moving them to feel the wood of the trunk itself. Rose scrunched up her nose in concentration, causing her big brother to smile. “This feels funny; they aren’t the same,” she pointed out. “Why?”

“They’re made of two different things,” Sherlock explained, kneeling down beside her. “These are leather straps that keep the trunk closed up tight when someone goes travelling. Do you know what leather is?”

Rose nodded and simply said, “Cows.”

“Right! This is wood,” Sherlock explained, moving his hand to touch the trunk itself. He examined it closely for a moment, distracted by identifying the specific type. “Black walnut in fact,” Sherlock announced after a moment. “You can’t make things of black walnut anymore, so this is a very special trunk. What do you think is in there?”

“Pirates!” Rose announced as she began bouncing up and down, her curls bouncing in time to her movements. “Open it, Sherlock, open it!”

“You think a pirate is in there?” Sherlock asked, chuckling. “Do you mean pirate gold? Treasure? Should we open it?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Rose shouted, clapping her hands excitedly. She sucked in a breath as he opened the top of the trunk and her little face, so full of excitement, immediately became sad upon discovering nothing but a large spool of lace. “No pirates,” she whined.

Sherlock hugged her tight. “No, no pirates, but I can use this for my experiment,” he decided, retrieving the spool. The lace, which had once been white, was yellow and somewhat brittle with age. As he tossed the lace in the direction of the steps down to the hallway below, Rose climbed inside the trunk where she happily sat while Sherlock dug around for several minutes longer.

“We’re done up here now, we need to go downstairs. Come here so I can help you go down,” Sherlock instructed, holding his arms out for Rose.

The little girl shook her head. “No. I wanna stay here, my trunk now.”

“You can’t stay in the attic silly girl. You’d be hungry and lonely,” he pointed out as he scooped her up. Sherlock immediately regretted taking her out of the trunk as she began screeching and wailing, reaching her arms out for the item in question. “Will you be quiet and be good if I bring the trunk downstairs? I’ll put it in your playroom, but only if you let me bring you down first. Can we do that?”

Rose considered the matter for a moment before nodding. “Yes, we will do that. My trunk.” True to her agreement, she held on tightly as Sherlock carried her down the steps to the hallway below and hovered nearby as he brought down the trunk. She followed him all the way into her playroom where he pushed it over to a relatively empty space in the room.

“I wanna sleep in there,” Rose said suddenly. “Please? I wanna sleep in the trunk.”

While he was normally one to indulge Rose’s flights of fancy and adventures that led to learning, this one fell outside of Sherlock’s comfort zone. What if the lid collapsed on her and she was stuck or got hurt? Not to mention Mycroft would murder him for letting their sister sleep in a _trunk_. “You’ll have to ask Mother or Mycroft about it tomorrow,” Sherlock decided. “Come on, we have more hunting to do.”

The excitement of the hunt swept Rose up once more and the two combed through the rest of the house to acquire more items. One such item was a forest green jumper found in the laundry room that belonged to Mycroft- or rather, _had_ belonged to Mycroft- which joined the hodge podge collection of seventeen items in total.

By the time their treasure hunt was finished it was well past supper time and Sherlock fed her before hustling little Rose through her bedtime routine. They brushed their teeth together, he helped her change into her pajamas, and he read her two books before tucking her into her little toddler bed. After turning out the light he headed back to the dining room to work on his experiment. With Rose in bed, Sherlock had every intention of getting back to his experiment.

Rose, however, had every intention of not allowing him to do so. Ten minutes after being tucked in, Sherlock could hear the pitter patter of her tiny feet making their way slowly down the stairs and towards the dining room.

“You have to go to sleep Rosie,” Sherlock said seriously when he caught sight of her curly head. “You’re going to be intolerably cranky if you don’t get some sleep, Baby. Come on, I’ll tuck you in again.” Without waiting for a response, he picked Rose up and carried her back upstairs, ignoring the indignant whimpering and whining noises.

Fifteen minutes later, she appeared once more and was again promptly tucked into bed. Five minutes after that, she came out again. Finally, forty-five minutes after he’d first put her to bed, Rose made her fourth trip into the dining room and promptly threw a tantrum.

“No!” Rose wailed. “No, no, no! No sleep!” The toddler added a stomp of her tiny foot as if trying to emphasize her unhappiness with bedtimes. “Don’t wanna sleep! Wanna help! Lemme help!” When stomping didn’t change his mind, she decided to use her sad puppy face which _always_ worked with Sherlock… until now.

“Why won’t you go to bed? Why are you being so fussy?” Sherlock finally demanded of her. He put his hands on his hips as he stared down the stroppy three-year-old. “Are you feeling icky? Is it cold? Are there monsters? What is the problem Rose? I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me and you _have_ to go to bed.”

Unused to being scolded by the ‘fun’ one of her two brothers, Rose stared up at him for a moment in shock as her mind processed this new data. When the moment passed, however, her face crumpled up and she began to cry.

These were not the tears of a little girl who didn’t get her way, but tears of one who was very, very upset about something that she considered serious. Sherlock promptly picked her up and cuddled her close. “What’s wrong Rosie?” he asked gently, trying futilely to dry her tears.

“I want My!” Rose wailed before promptly burying her face against his shoulder.

She wanted Mycroft? _That_ was the problem? Ugh, Sherlock thought. “He’s not here Rosie,” he replied as he rocked her in his arms. “He’ll be home later, but he’s not home yet. Are you seriously lonely for Mycroft?” He sighed heavily when Rose nodded her head. This was a problem he couldn’t solve.

Or _could_ he? “How about I make you a bed in here, with me?” Sherlock asked. “I could make one up in here and you can be with me while I work. I’ll tell you everything I do as I do it, so that you can learn too, and then when you’re tired you can just fall asleep and I’ll still be here.” After all, the important part was sleep, so as long as she slept _somewhere_ that was the main thing. The location of said sleep was really not something worth an all out battle.

“Okay,” Rose whimpered. She wiped her face on his shirt before looking up at him hopefully.

“Good, we’ll do that then. Let’s get Teddy and some things from your room,” Sherlock said, kissing her cheek.

Within just a few moments a new little bed had been fashioned in the dining room at an appropriate distance from where Sherlock would work. A cushion from the sitting room couch, which had two long ones as opposed to three shorter ones, would serve as Rose’s bed and was just her size. With her pillow and blanket from her room, and Teddy in hand, the toddler was tucked into bed once more.

“Please go to sleep Baby,” Sherlock said gently, tucking the covers in snuggly around her. “You have Teddy; you’ve had stories and all the other rituals of your bedtime routine, so now it’s time to sleep. Nobody wants a cranky Rosie in the morning.”

The little girl smiled sleepily up at him. “Night-night Sherlock. Love you.” She gave him a kiss and watched as he returned to the dining table and began his running commentary on his experiment. It worked as well as any lullaby and within minutes, Rose was fast asleep.

Sherlock smiled to himself as he watched her for a moment, making certain she would sleep this time. When it was clear she wouldn’t be up anymore that night, he felt a sense of both relief and pride at having picked the right part of the battle to fight instead of causing an all-out bedtime war.

\-----------------------------------------------------

LESSON LEARNED: EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

“I like it,” Rose murmured as Sherlock closed the cover of _Miss Nelson is Missing_.

“That one’s your favorite book right now, isn’t it?” Sherlock asked, looking down at the toddler in his lap. He smiled when she nodded enthusiastically. “That wasn’t hard to deduce, since we’ve read it seven times today. I bet you’ll be able to read it to _me_ soon.”

“No,” the little girl said.

“No?”

“No more reading, my tummy is hungry,” the three-year-old told her big brother.

“Well, I suppose it is tea time. Would you like a sandwich and some tea? Will that make your tummy happy?” Sherlock asked, tickling the tummy in question.

Rose squealed and wriggled around, playfully pushing his hands away. “No! No! No!”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Sherlock responded, continuing to tickle until she was breathless from all her giggling.

“I love you,” Rose murmured when she caught her breath.

Sherlock smiled and returned the sentiment, whispering it in her ear. “Ready for your sandwich?”

“Yes! Can I help? I’m big now. I’m three,” Rose reminded him, sounding very proud of herself.

“You’re big? You don’t look very big,” he teased, gently tugging on her pony tail. “You still look very small to me.”

His teasing was rewarded with a scowl, which unfortunately for Rose was a rather adorable one and far from intimidating. “I am very big. My said so. Three is _very_ big! I have a big girl bed,” she reminded him. Rose was quite proud of the fact that she’d recently traded her toddler bed for a proper twin sized one and gotten a whole make-over for her bedroom, which was, naturally, pink.

“Well, Mycroft is an idiot, don’t listen to anything thing he says,” Sherlock said with a straight face. He could hardly hold it together as Rose gasped and her bright blue eyes went comically wide. “But I suppose you can help me make sandwiches, and prove how very big you are,” he offered, giving her a bit of a smile.

“Yes, I will help,” Rose said assertively. She got up from his lap and scurried off to the kitchen with Sherlock close behind her.

“I’ll start the tea, you get the bread and jam so I can make us sandwiches,” he suggested, unable to resist smiling at the way her face lit up.

“I can do that!” Rose retrieved the loaf of bread from the bread box and placed it on the counter before going to look for the jam in the fridge. It wasn’t hard to spot and she picked it up with both hands, intending to be careful with the glass jar. The lid, however, was not on very tightly and the bottle fell away from her, landing the kitchen rug with barely a noise, its contents spilling out everywhere. Rose stared at the pile of jam on the rug and frowned at it.

“Did you find it?” Sherlock asked, not looking up from where he was working at the counter.

“Yep.” Rose solved her sandwich problem by merely picking up some jam in her hands and depositing the little pile on the countertop.

Sherlock reached for a jar, only to find it wasn’t there, getting jam on his hand instead. Frowning slightly, he turned to look for Rose and found her back on the rug, trying to scoop the jam back into the jar. “One should always expect the unexpected with you, shouldn’t they?” Sherlock murmured, looking once again between the handfuls of jam on the counter, his jam covered sister, and the rug which sported a sizeable heap of it.

“Yes,” Rose agreed in a serious tone. “I’m cleaning, don’t worry.”

“Well we can’t use that jam anymore, it’s been on the floor. Mother wouldn’t approve,” Sherlock explained. “How did you manage to get so much of it on you in two seconds?” Jam was smeared on her hands and arms, the knees of her trousers and along the hem of her shirt.

“It just happened,” the little girl responded. Uncertain whether or not he was upset by the mess, Rose offered an equally uncertain, “Sorry?”

“It’s alright,” Sherlock assured her, crouching down to pick her up. “Tea will have to wait though; you need a good washing first. Can’t get jam all over the house.”

Rose pouted. “Why not? It’s a pretty color.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows rose and he looked down at her, unable to do anything other than laugh. “The world is much less boring through your eyes. What an interesting idea!” He could well imagine the look on Mycroft’s face when he came home to discover a jam-covered house. It would be priceless, he was certain of it, but it was probably not the greatest idea to put in Rose’s head. He knew without a doubt that she’d do it and then have to face the wrath of Mycroft afterwards. It was best to just discourage the idea now.

“But even though that’s a very interesting idea,” Sherlock continued. “It’s not really a good one. I would suggest you not attempt to do that as an experiment, because I’d _really_ hate having to put you in time out.”

The little girl heaved a dramatic sigh as they entered the bathroom, but nodded her agreement just the same.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, kissing her head. “You look almost good enough to eat, with all that jam. Maybe I should do just that!” Sherlock reached for a jam covered hand and slowly drew it towards his mouth, opening it up wide.

“Nooooooooooo!” Rose squealed, throwing her arms and kicking her legs around. Wriggling out of his grasp, she took off running through the house with her big brother in hot pursuit.

“What in the world is going on here?!” Mycroft demanded as a jam covered child ran past him just as he entered the house. He reached out and caught Rose’s arm, immediately regretting it as he felt the sticky substance. “I’m not going to like the explanation for this, am I?” he asked, practically cringing in advance.

“No?” Rose offered. “I didn’t put it on the walls, Sherlock said no.”

“So you put it all over yourself instead? Lovely Rose. Jam is for eating, not for… whatever it is you’re in the middle of attempting to do,” Mycroft scolded.

“Making sandwiches,” the little girl said, filling in the blank for him.

Mycroft was completely flabbergasted by her response. “Making… how does this happen while making sandwiches?”

“Oops?” The little girl looked up at her eldest brother with a tiny pout and an imploring face that practically screamed ‘Don’t scold me, I’m so cute!’

“Oops? That is _not_ an explanation Rose,” Mycroft informed her. “Sherlock, since you allowed this to happen, go clean her up and then tidy anything she’s touched. Thank you once again, Sherlock, for making our home chaos.”

“I advised against her making future jam-centered experiments. For what it’s worth, this was an accident. _Someone_ didn’t close the jam jar tightly enough and Rose was trying to be helpful.” Sherlock’s tone clearly indicated that he felt Mycroft was the person in question and thus responsible for the entire jam fiasco.

“Mmhm. Yes, an accident. I completely believe you,” Mycroft ground out sarcastically. “Just get cleaned up already, both of you. Oh Rose, don’t _lick_ the jam off yourself!”

“I’m a kitty. Meow meow. This is how kitties clean. Meow.” She proceeded to lick at the jam on her arm.

Sherlock burst out laughing at the look of horror on Mycroft’s face while the ‘kitty’ tried to clean herself. “Alright, come along kitty, time for you to get a bath I think.”

Rose began meowing frantically as Sherlock picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. “No! Meow! Kitties don’t like water! MEOW MEOW! MEOW!”

Her brother merely shook his head and carried her away to the bathroom.

\-------------------------------------------------

LESSON LEARNED: DON’T LOOK A GIFT HORSE IN THE MOUTH

“I will _not_ tell you again, Rosenwyn Aramantha. You will cease and desist all this climbing and bouncing on every piece of furniture you come across. Do you hear me? It’s done now, find something else to do,” Mycroft scolded as he escorted his errant five-year-old sister out of his study. “If I see it again, someone is getting a sore bottom. Is that understood?” He glared down at her, daring the tiny girl to defy him. Much to his relief, Rose merely pouted and bounced away.

As her beleaguered eldest brother shut the door firmly and returned to his desk, Mycroft quickly realized that working from home this Saturday afternoon was just not going to work. While she may not, at this moment, be bouncing or climbing on anything, she was now singing at the top of her lungs while running up and down the hallway outside his door. While all singing was likely to disturb him just then, particularly in such close proximity to what was supposed to be his sanctuary in this house of madness, it was the very _worst_ song of all.

“How do you solve a problem like Maria? How do you catch a cloud and pin it down? How do you find a word that means Maria?” Rose sang at her loudest possible volume.

Mycroft was going to kill Eleanor Gardner the next time he saw the mother of Rose’s best friend. That woman just _had_ to get Rose _The Sound of Music_ for her birthday. The girls loved it, she said. They played it and sang it and it was a lovely distraction, she said.

Sure, it was lovely movie with catchy music and an endearing -though ultimately heavily falsified- story of hope in the face of oppression, the full scope of which Mycroft was certain Rose didn’t understand. What five-year-old, no matter how brilliant, really understood Nazi occupied Austria? But if he had to listen to that bloody awful nonsense the whole rest of the day, someone in this house was going to die. He just _knew_ Mother would be quite distressed if he had to ring her up in Madrid and inform her that the baby had been strangled in order to preserve his mental health and thus, save the world.

Stuffing his paperwork into his briefcase, Mycroft threw open the door of his study, letting it hit the wall with a bang as he stalked out into the hallway. The noise had, thank god, disrupted the impromptu concert in the hallway and Mycroft couldn’t help but feel a bit satisfied at the look of shock on Rose’s face at the door hitting the wall. If only she could be stunned long enough for him to make his escape!

“SHERLOCK!” Mycroft bellowed. “I’m going to the office. Watch Rose and make certain she doesn’t crack her head open _again_. If she does, you’re _both_ getting spanked and I will personally burn each and every one of your possessions that I can find, starting with your violin!”

The Holmes in question looked up in alarm from where he’d been reading in the sitting room and could only manage to nod in response to the threats. No, not threats, promises; Mycroft never said those sorts of things unless he meant them, hence it being a promise rather than a threat. Sherlock watched in awe as Mycroft slammed the door open and slammed it closed behind him, stepping out into the downpour, only to get soaked before he managed to open his brolly properly.

For a moment, the middle and littlest Holmses stared at the front door in shock, until finally Sherlock broke the silent. “That… was really masterful Rose. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so vexed in my entire life; I’m impressed,” Sherlock decided, giving his sister a smile.

Three hours later, he was no longer smiling and wished that _he_ had an office to go to. Rainy days were really the worst when it came to Rose, who had unending amounts of energy that needed to be drained by playing outside on a daily basis. Not only was it raining today, it was raining for the third day in a row.

In the time since Mycroft had abandoned him to the terror that was their sister a chair had been taken out of commission and Rose very narrowly missed hitting her head on the corner of the coffee table as it collapsed under her from continuous and sustained bouncing. In his attempt to save his sister from cracking her head open, his book had been tossed to the side while he dived across the room to catch her. Sadly, the side that it was tossed to was the side with the fireplace and that book “died” as Rose had put it. Hoping to keep them both, and the house, safe, and in response to her inability to keep from bouncing, Sherlock had put her in a lengthy time out. The wall where she’d sat on the naughty chair facing the corner now featured multiple scuff marks from Rose’s shoes, further evidence of her inability to sit still for even a moment today.

The worst, however, came after lunch time, which had yielded some quiet for a few blessed minutes. Rose had gone up to her playroom afterwards and Sherlock was comforted by the lack of noise coming from upstairs.

He shouldn’t have been.

Deciding he should check on Rose, even if things seemed to be calm and quiet, Sherlock went upstairs and entered the playroom. The first thing he saw was his little sister holding a pair of scissors, a most definite no-no. “Rose! You aren’t supposed to play with scissors! Where did you find them?” he exclaimed. It was then he realized that the scissors were only the beginning of the mess that had occurred in those quiet thirty minutes she’d been playing.

“What have you done?!” Sherlock half-shouted, taking in the chaos of the scene before him. Doll hair littered the little kitchenette table and several dolls sporting very unfortunate haircuts were lying amidst their lost hair. Two of the curtains were missing their lower halves and at this very moment, Rose was cutting one up with the scissors.

“I’m gonna make clothes like Fraulein Maria! For all my babies! But they wanted new hair first. Those styles were very, very old. So we played beauty salon!” Rose made it sound as if that was the most obvious and natural thing in the world.

But it wasn’t. Sherlock crossed the room and took the scissors back from her, giving her a stern look. “Mycroft is going to smack the daylights out of you when he gets home! Look at this mess! What are we going to do?!”

“Dunno.”

Uncertain whether to put her in time out again or merely count his blessings that she was uninjured as far as he could tell and hadn’t cut her own hair, Sherlock decided on the later. Mycroft was the mean brother after all. “Come on, help me clean this up or we’re going to be in so much trouble. Put all the dolly hair in the kitchen bin, put the scissors back wherever you found them, and I’ll take care of the curtains. If Mycroft asks, they’re being washed.” And he would wash them, just so he wasn’t making Rose lie. He just wouldn’t explain that two of the three were half their normal size.

Fifteen minutes later, evidence of all crimes eradicated for the moment, Sherlock plopped Rose down in front of the telly and put in a film. Why he hadn’t thought to do that earlier he wasn’t sure, but he prayed to any god that was listening that Rose was done with her burst of manic energy. He made certain to select a film that was relatively nice and calming with a fairly limited amount of music that she could sing along to. The live action version of _Peter Pan_ seemed to fulfill such requirements and Sherlock started the DVD before heading into the kitchen to get something to drink.

“What’s that?” Rose asked when he returned.

Sherlock was dismayed to see she was _still_ unable to sit still, but at least she wasn’t bouncing or cutting anything! He sat down beside her, hoping to pull her close for a cuddle. “It’s coffee.”

Rose looked into his mug curiously. “Can I have some?”

Normally Sherlock would refuse, knowing Mycroft would have a hissy if he didn’t, but really, at this point, her exuberance really couldn’t get any worse. “Alright,” he said, handing the mug over to her with a shrug. “Blow on it a bit, it’s warm. Drink slowly.”

He watched, fascinated, as Rose began delicately sipping the coffee. She seemed to like the taste and what was more her body appeared to like the drink as well. As Rose downed the liquid slowly but surely, she leaned back against the couch, all bouncing ceased, and she looked calm for the first time all day. How odd, yet fascinating. This would require further study!

An hour later, Mycroft returned home to find Rose calm and relaxed, enjoying a film that wasn’t _The Sound of Music._ “I see you’ve both survived,” he murmured, crossing the sitting room to ruffle Rose’s curls. “Though the chair obviously didn’t.” Mycroft had been about to say they’d all be discussing the demise of the chair in detail when he realized Rose was drinking something that didn’t look quite right.

“Rose, what are you drinking?” he asked.

“Coffee; I like it. This is my second one,” Rose replied, giving him a bright smile. Her attention returned to the cup in her hands.

Mycroft’s attention, however, turned to Sherlock, who promptly received a smack upside the head.

“Ow! Hold on, let’s discuss this rationally,” the younger Holmes brother responded. He headed for the kitchen with Mycroft hot on his heels. “She asked if she could have some and I gave her a cup. She liked it. She’s been calm ever since. I don’t understand it, but that’s the truth.”

“It’s coffee and she’s _five_. On what planet is that a good idea?!” Mycroft demanded, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“The planet that wants to continue to exist and not go the way of that chair in the sitting room,” Sherlock pointed out. “I’ve never done it before, but it worked and I’m not going to question it. At least not this time anyway!”

Mycroft groaned loudly. “This is a very, very bad idea. I’m blaming you entirely for the fallout of this.”

“There’s an old saying that I used to think was completely idiotic, but now I believe is spot on. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Mycroft. She’s calm and quiet and we’ll all live to see tomorrow,” Sherlock said, giving his big brother a look. “Don’t spoil it, please.”

Mycroft slowly nodded as he saw the wisdom of his brother’s borrowed words and for once, allowed Sherlock to have the last word. While this could not become a habit by any means, today, he’d let it go.

\-------------------------------------------------------

NOTE: No, I don’t condone giving children coffee LOL. But I was thinking about Rose's love of coffee and how that came to be. This was what came to mind.

ADDITIONAL NOTE: There are still 7 lessons for Sherlock to learn! I want your suggestions! I will also be doing a 10 of something with Mycroft and I want suggestions for that as well. Hope you enjoyed the drabbles! Will get Rose Blooms updated next!


	17. Learning How to Parent Part 2

LEARNING HOW TO PARENT—Part 2

LESSON LEARNED: LOVE IS PATIENT

Sherlock Holmes had been looking for his violin for the past three hours. How a violin disappears and stays missing for such a significant amount of time he wasn’t entirely certain, but stay missing it did and he was quickly running out of new places to look. Soon there was only one place left to look: Rose’s room.

He knocked lightly on his baby sister’s bedroom door. “Rose, its Sherlock. May I come in?” He could hear her little feet crossing the room and she opened the door slowly.

“Hi,” Rose said quietly. The door was only opened enough for her to stick her head out of the door. “I’m busy, come back later.” She promptly shut the bedroom door in his face.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, knowing without a doubt now that his violin was in her room. A part of him even thought something may have happened to it, which only added to his desire to find it. “Rose! I’m going to come in. I need to find my violin and I think you know where it is.”

He entered the room to find his four-year-old sister sitting on her bed, holding on to her beloved Teddy tightly, looking like the personification of the word ‘guilty.’ This was not going to be fun, Sherlock thought to himself. Crossing the room he took a seat on the bed and reached out for one of Rose’s tiny hands. Everything about her was so very tiny that sometimes it was hard to imagine that someone so small could create the level of mischief and mayhem that she did.

Taking her hand, Sherlock rubbed it gently with his thumb. “Rose, do you know where my violin is?” he asked gently.

Rose nodded miserably and buried her face against her teddy bear.

Sherlock squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Can you tell me where it is?”

She mumbled something in response but Sherlock couldn’t quite make it out, being unskilled at understanding Rose-through-bear-speak. “Tell me where it is, Rosie,” he encouraged. “Whatever it is, I won’t shout at you, I promise.”

Those were apparently the magic words as Rose removed her face from the bear. “Under my bed,” she whispered. “I’m really sorry Sherlock, I didn’t mean to.” After this declaration she buried her face once more.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock got up from her bed and knelt on the floor. A cursory look under the bed confirmed that his violin was in fact underneath it, pushed as far in the back as Rose’s little arms had been able to push it. Lying flat on the floor he reached underneath and caught the instrument with his hand, gently pulling it to him, uncertain what he will find. When he spotted the huge gash on the back of the violin, Sherlock let out a cry of distress, his fingers gently assessing the damage to the instrument. The violin itself might live, but it certainly wasn’t a lovely, performance quality instrument any longer.

“How did this happen Rose?” Sherlock asked, looking at her sternly. “Why did you have my violin and what did you do to it?”

The little girl burst into tears and pressed her teddy bear against her face once more.

“Crying isn’t an answer to my question, Rosenwyn. I suggest you answer them or you’re going to be in very big trouble,” Sherlock warned. He wouldn’t spank her, after all he was the fun brother, but a long time out most definitely had her name on it, particularly if he wasn’t thrilled with her responses.

After another minute or two of tears, Rose finally lifted her head from her teddy and looked sorrowfully at her big brother. “I just wanted to play it! I was going to learn to play it like you and surprise you, but I accidentally dropped it down the stairs and then I got scared and tried to hide it.”

“We’ve talked about this before, haven’t we?” Sherlock asked, sitting down on the bed once more. “About how my violin is mine and you can’t play with it unless you ask first.” He could sense how reluctant she was to admit that they’d discussed the rules of his violin before, and was very proud of her when she nodded her head anyway.

“I’m _very_ disappointed in you,” Sherlock said, deliberately mimicking the stern but gentle way his mother had of scolding. “That was a naughty thing to do and there has to be consequences. We’re going downstairs and you’re going to sit your bum on the naughty chair for a long time out for breaking the rules again.”

Rose began crying as if she’d be sentenced to death, but Sherlock was determined not to let it sway him; not this time. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she repeated through her tears. “Don’t be dis’pointed in me!”

With a sigh, Sherlock picked her up for a cuddle. “I know you’re sorry, but you aren’t allowed to do that. You’ve made me very, very sad. But after your time out, you’ll be all forgiven and I won’t be disappointed anymore.”

While she continued to cry and cling to him, Sherlock carried her downstairs, not feeling any happier about this turn of events than she was. He’d never had to tell her before that he was disappointed or even punish her before. But she deserved it, he kept telling herself. This time, despite her tears, she really, really deserved it and he most definitely had to do it, or she’d never learn to leave his things alone.

Sherlock carried her straight into the sitting room and put her gently on the naughty chair that faced the corner. “Ten minutes,” he told her. “You’re going to sit here for ten minutes and then we’ll have a cuddle and it’ll all be forgiven.” It was longer than one might normally put a child in time out, the prevailing theory being one minute for each year of their age, but Rose had not only taken his violin but tried to hide that she’d damaged it, making the ten minutes justified in his opinion.

That didn’t mean, however, that those ten minutes would be easy for either of them. Truly despondent at the fact that she’d upset her beloved fun brother so much that he was not only punishing her, but was disappointed in her, fueled frantic tears that seemed to go on and one without abating as the minutes began ticking by. Sherlock, despite his best efforts, wasn’t immune to them; not even close.

Three minutes ticked by so slowly Sherlock thought they both might expire before the full ten minutes passed. Finally, at four and a half minutes, he couldn’t take her tears any longer and crossed the room, turning her to face him. “Is it very hard?” he asked gently. “Are you really that upset?” His heart broke at the anxious look on Rose’s face as she nodded and tried to swipe at her tears with her tiny hands.

“I’ll be right back, stay here,” Sherlock said, turning her back to face the wall. He immediately got up and entered the dining room, picking up a chair and bringing it back with him to the sitting room. Placing it right behind Rose’s chair, he sat down and picked her up, settling her on his lap. “You’re still going to have your time out,” Sherlock explained when she gave him a questioning look. “But we’ll do it together, alright? We’re both going to sit very quietly together until the timer goes off. Understand?”

Rose nodded her understanding and turned to face the corner once more, her tears finally coming to a stop as she sat there in his lap. The final part of her time out passed quietly, and Sherlock was very relieved that her frantic tears had stopped. He meant to teach her a lesson, not frighten her or torture her!

When the timer went off, Sherlock turned Rose around in his lap to face him. Before he could say a word, Rose threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “I’m sorry Sherlock. I won’t take your violin anymore ever again. Or hide it either.”

Sherlock smiled and snuggled her close. “I forgive you,” he promised. “It’s all forgiven and time out is all over now.” He stood carefully with her in his arms and left the corner, pleased at how well everything had turned out, even if his violin had been damaged. Sometimes one had to be patient and temper discipline with love when it came to children and today Sherlock had learned the value and truth of his mother’s words of wisdom.

\-------------------------------------------------

LESSON LEARNED: ACCIDENTS ARE BOUND TO HAPPEN (AKA: The Dreaded Pirate Rose)

“Rose! Did you take those beakers again? I need those!” Sherlock called up the stairs.

“Yes! I hide them, better come find them!” she called back. Wearing a red bandana, a little leather vest and a sword, ‘pirate’ Rose gave her brother an impish grin and dashed off to her playroom.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock trudged upstairs, thankful that she’d only taken them from the dining room and not from the experiment room. Still, he needed those and wasn’t necessarily in the mood to play treasure hunt.

After searching through some of the upstairs rooms, Sherlock finally entered Rose’s playroom, watching with amusement as she tried to give him an angelic little face. “Tell me where they are, or I’ll have to resort to torture,” he stated with a completely straight face.

Rose’s blue eyes grew wide. “Torture?” she whispered.

“Yes, torture,” Sherlock confirmed. “The very worst form of torture known to mankind: tickling.”

“No! Heavens no! You can’t! I won’t let you catch meeeeee!” Rose put up a merry chase around the playroom, finally making an escape before Sherlock could proceed with the dreaded tickle torture.

“Come back here!” Sherlock called, laughing as he chased her. “I want those beakers and I will have them!”

“No! I’m a pirate and pirates never return their treasure!” Rose responded, running towards the stairs.

Sherlock watched in horror, unable to reach his baby sister in time, as Rose tripped over her shoe laces at the top of the stairs. Time seemed to stand still, and the distance between them increased ten-fold as he heard her frightened scream and the thud of her little body hitting wooden stairs over and over and over before landing with a smack on the hardwood floor at the bottom.

Just as time seemed to stand still before, it now seemed to speed quickly ahead and without even knowing how, Sherlock was at her side as Rose lay at the bottom of the stairs. She was silent, her little body at what seemed like strange angles, and bleed was oozing out of her nose and mouth. “Rose? ROSE?!” He kept repeating her name, his volume louder each time he did so, hoping she would open her eyes. When three minutes had passed and Rose hadn’t moved, opened her eyes, or made a sound other than that of her breathing, Sherlock knew he needed help.

While his first instinct was to call Mycroft, which might also be the signing of his own death warrant, Sherlock knew that even Mycroft couldn’t magic an ambulance to their house faster than the emergency number. Forgoing alerting their elder brother, Sherlock took out his mobile and called 999.

The eight minutes that passed between the time the call was placed and the ambulance arrived were the longest eight minutes in the history of the world, according to Sherlock. After letting the paramedics in, he watched in horror as the paramedics first examined Rose and then ever so carefully put her on a back board and secured her head with a neck collar before loading her into the ambulance.

“I need to come with,” Sherlock insisted as they made to shut the back doors of the ambulance. “I’m coming with or you’re not taking her.”

“You can’t ride in the back of the ambulance sir,” the paramedic said patiently. “But you can ride up front with the driver.”

Once everyone was settled the ambulance took off for the nearest hospital, sirens and lights blaring. Halfway there, Rose’s eyes fluttered open. “Sherlock?” she murmured. “Sherlock?”

“Slurred speech,” the paramedic noted.

“What? That’s not slurred speech! That’s my name!” Sherlock called from the front seat.

The paramedic frowned. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously! And her name’s not even really Rose, it’s Rosenwyn. Our parents thought it might be fun to be creative… or something…” Sherlock muttered.

“How do you even spell that?” the paramedic asked. “R-o-z-w-i-n?”

“Oh, I feel so happy I’ve entrusted my only sister’s care to such idiots,” Sherlock growled. “R-o-s-e-n-w-y-n. Think Rosalind. And I’m right here Rose, there’s no reason to be scared. I won’t let any stupid people touch you.”

“Want My,” Rose whimpered. Her whimper went straight to Sherlock’s heart. Did she blame him for her fall?

Before the moronic paramedics could infer that she was slurring her speech or having trouble putting together sentences, the ambulance arrived at the hospital. Sherlock exited the vehicle and moved well out of the way as they wheeled his sister inside where a doctor and several nurses took over, shouting various things at each other as they disappeared with her. When Sherlock attempted to follow, a nurse stepped in his way.

“They’re going to take very good care of her sir. I have some paperwork for you to fill out so come and sit in the waiting room, please. The doctor will be out to talk to you just as soon as he can,” the young woman said.

As Sherlock began filling out the mountain of paperwork, he retrieved his mobile and dialed a number, filled with dread as he did so.

Mycroft, ensconced in his office, was surprised to feel his mobile vibrating in his pocket and even more surprised at the name displayed on the screen. “Sherlock?” he answered. There was no response. “Sherlock? If you’re calling just to breathe at me, I thought we’d already established that that was an inappropriate prank. He could hear his brother take a deep breath on the other end of the line.

“I broke the baby,” Sherlock whispered. The brothers often referred to Rose privately as ‘baby’ or ‘the baby’ in their discussions, despite the fact that the child in question was now six-years-old. Sherlock suddenly felt as though he’d like to have a good cry and took another deep breath in order to thwart the urge to do so.

Mycroft frowned, despite the fact that Sherlock couldn’t see it. “You broke Baby, what does that even mean?”

“She fell down the stairs Mycroft and was unconscious and bleeding,” Sherlock finally responded. “I’m at hospital, they carted her away somewhere on a back board with a neck collar and it’s my fault.”

The eldest Holmes was very disconcerted by the emotions he could hear in his younger brother’s voice. “I’ll be right there.”

\----------------------------------------

Ten minutes later, Mycroft Holmes walked into the hospital. It didn’t take him long to spot Sherlock, the younger brother looking despondent and very nearly in tears. “Have you heard anything?” he asked, sitting down beside him. “What happened?”

Sherlock shook his head. “They haven’t come out yet. I’m so sorry Mycroft,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean it. This is entirely my fault and I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t even bring himself to look at Mycroft.

Mycroft cleared his throat, shoving away the panic rising within him and tried to focus on how to deal with Sherlock. Did he try to be gentle about it, or should be stern and order Sherlock to get himself under control? “That wasn’t what I asked,” he finally said, trying the gentle route. It was unbelievably disturbing to see Sherlock struggle so much to control his emotions, particularly in public.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Sherlock whispered. “It’s entirely my fault.”

Ah; gentle wasn’t the way to go then. He’d need to be stern to pull Sherlock out of his wallowing enough to get a straight answer from the teenager. Mycroft reached out and firmly grasped Sherlock’s chin, forcing his brother to look at him. “That was _not_ what I asked you, young man. Stop your sniveling this very instant and answer the question _or else_.”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide as Mycroft’s threat registered and had the effect he’d intended. “We were playing upstairs, I was chasing her,” he quickly explained. “She tripped over her shoes laces- I hadn’t even seen they were untied- and fell right down the stairs. I couldn’t get to her in time to keep her from falling.”

A mental image of his tiny sister plummeting down the hard, wooden stairs to land on the equally hard, wooden floor flashed through Mycroft’s mind and it was incredibly disturbing to say the least. Almost as disturbing as that mental image was watching Sherlock look down at the floor again and begin sniffling and… good god, was he actually _crying?!_

“Pull yourself together Sherlock,” Mycroft hissed. They didn’t do this, they never did this. Mycroft had never been the person who’d comforted Sherlock when he cried, with the rare exception of a good, sound spanking now and again.

Sherlock paid no mind to his brother and was just as uncomfortable as Mycroft when he couldn’t get the silent tears to stop. In his mind’s eye he could see Rose at the bottom of the stairs, blood on her face, and body at awkward angles, unconscious. People could die from falling down the stairs. He shouldn’t have chased her. He should have scolded her more about those stupid untied laces. Rose knew how to tie her shoes, he should have insisted that she do it rather than get carried away with chasing her. He’d never forgive himself if Rose was permanently hurt, or even died, because of stupid shoe laces and stupid chasing.

While no less frightened than Sherlock for their baby sister, Mycroft forced himself to keep his emotions in check and save any tears or outburst for after they heard from the doctor. Still, he hated to hear Sherlock so upset and to blame himself for what sounded like a complete accident. He squeezed his brother’s shoulder, struggling to find words to comfort him, yet again reflecting that somehow it was always so much easier to comfort Rose than Sherlock. Finally, the words came to him.

“Did you push Rose down the stairs?”

Sherlock looked up at his brother, completely aghast. “Of course not!”

“Did you untie her laces intending to make her trip to teach her a lesson about tying her shoes properly?”

“No!”

“Did you watch and not try to intercept her before she tumbled?”

“No! I just couldn’t get to her in time!”

“Then it sounds to me,” Mycroft said. “That you cannot blame yourself, whatever the outcome of this. People have accidents every day and unless you did any of those things, you are not to blame and piling blame on yourself won’t make it anymore true or Rose any better.”

Sherlock seemed to take some comfort from the words, and both brothers took a bit of comfort when the doctor approached them.

“Mr. Holmes,” the doctor said. “And…”

“The other Mr. Holmes,” Mycroft answered. “I’m Rose’s legal guardian and her oldest brother.” He was, for the first time, very thankful that Mother had given him full legal authority in regards to Rose so that should some sort of medical decision need to be made, he had the ability to do it.

“Well, it looks like Rose is going to be just fine,” the doctor said. “She cut her lip on her teeth on the way down, hence the blood from her mouth, and smacked her face and nose pretty hard. The nose isn’t broken but she’s got a sizeable bruise on her cheek. We did some CT scans and x-rays and there’s no evidence of bleeding in the brain and no broken bones. Other than a mild concussion, she’s just fine and can be taken home in a few hours. We want to make certain nothing appears in the next few hours, but if nothing further arises, she’ll be set. I’ll have a nurse bring you to her room.”

\-------------------------------------------

Four hours later, Sherlock carried a sleepy Rose into his room. “This isn’t my bedroom,” she murmured.

“I know,” Sherlock chuckled quietly. “It’s my room. I want to keep an eye on you during the night and my bed is bigger than yours. I couldn’t fit in it.”

“I’m okay Sherlock. Promise,” Rose replied. “The doctor even said.” Despite being okay, she smiled as he tucked her under the covers before getting into bed himself and pulling her close.

“I’m sorry you got hurt today Rose. It was my fault and I’m really sorry. I was so scared,” he whispered, running his hand through her curly hair. “Forgive me?”

“Of course!” Rose turned over a bit and kissed his cheek. “I should have tied my shoes anyway, so it’s my fault,” she whispered. “So I’m sorry too. Am I in trouble?”

“Am I in trouble?” Sherlock echoed. “You fell down the stairs and lost consciousness for ten minutes, I’m quite sure that’s plenty. Plus, I’m certain you’ll tie your shoes properly from now on, won’t you?”

Rose nodded. “That was wholly undignified. What sort of pirate falls down the stairs? I need proper pirate boots, without laces,” she decided. “We should do something about that. More proper pirate gear is required. Also, a ship would be nice.”

Sherlock laughed quietly. “It was not undignified, and I really hope you have more respect for falling down the stairs than just declaring it ‘undignified.’ As for proper pirate gear, I’ll pick Mycroft’s pocket tomorrow and we’ll order some online.”

Rose smiled and closed her eyes. “You’re my favorite Sherlock,” she declared.

“And you’re the most fearsome pirate mistress that ever sailed the seven seas,” Sherlock replied, kissing her forehead. “Now go to sleep. I’ll be right here, watching over you.”

\-----------------------------------------------

Seven days later, Mycroft Holmes walked into his favorite café to purchase something for lunch. After making his order, he handed over his bank card and picked up a pen to sign the receipt.

“Mr. Holmes? Um, your card has been declined.”

Mycroft looked up at the cashier with alarm. “Excuse me?”

“It says it’s been declined. I ran it twice and it came back that way both times,” the young woman told him.

That was not possible. Mycroft had plenty of money in the bank to purchase lunch and had just recently had his sizeable paycheck deposited. The bank must have made a mistake, which was not the cashier’s fault, so Mycroft held back his displeasure and handed over a credit card. This time the transaction was completed and he took his lunch back to the office.

Immediately upon his return he logged into his account at the bank and began reviewing the recent charges to the account: there were charges for various business dinners, daily lunch orders, 150 pounds on Amazon, charges from the grocery store, 2500 pounds to Playworks Inc., the usual charge for the mobile plan, the water bill…

Mycroft stopped and frowned. 150 pounds on Amazon? 2500 pounds to Playworks Inc? What the hell was all that? He hadn’t made those charges! Mycroft quickly called up the online retailer and the children’s playground equipment store and discovered what had been purchased with his card. He then immediately left the office and went home, murder on his mind.

His car pulled into the driveway of the Holmes residence twenty-five minutes later and the expenditures from his bank account came immediately into view. There, in the backyard, was Rose, in the most expensive pirate gear known to man, treasure map, hook, sword, pistol and all, running around the deck of her very own pirate ship.

A pirate ship.

In his yard.

That cost 2500 pounds.

That had apparently been christened _HMS Mycroft._

And there, just where Mycroft knew he’d be, was Rose’s faithful first officer, Sherlock, wearing his own pirate hat, shaking a sword in the air.

“WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES!” Mycroft thundered. Both the younger Holmes turned to look at Mycroft in alarm. “I AM GOING TO TAKE EVERY POUND OF THAT MONEY OUT OF YOUR FLESH!”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and the seventeen-year-old went pale. That had not been an anticipated outcome of his illicit purchases for Rose. Shouting, yes; grounding, probably; forced repayment of funds spent; highly likely. Exchanging all of that for what was sure to be a very unpleasant visit to Mycroft’s study? Nope, hadn’t seen that one coming.

“I AM GOING TO GIVE YOU THE HIDING OF YOUR LIFE. GET OFF THAT RIDICULOUS SHIP NOW!” Mycroft bellowed.

Sherlock did the only sensible thing one could do when confronted with a bellowing and threatening Mycroft: he ran.

 ------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see Rose’s pirate ship, check out http://www.amishdirectplaysets.com/wood-swing-set/wood-playscape-ship-cutter.html


	18. Saving the HMS Mycroft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked and have received! Sherlock answers for the pirate ship.

[Excerpt is from chapter 33 of A Rose Blooms in Baker Street. The story is an epilogue to Raising a Wildflower chapter 17]

_"So I bought her a pirate ship. A complete pirate ship in the backyard, christened the_ _HMS Mycroft_ _at her insistence. She got to keep it in the end, didn’t work out so well for me. Something about 2500 pounds is a ridiculous amount of money for a ‘glad you feel better now’ gift.” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively._

_John promptly spit out his tea at the mention of 2500 pounds. “Yeah, I’d have murdered you too. How are you not dead and buried?”_

_Sherlock looked a bit uncomfortable and shifted in his chair by the fireplace. “There were moments I wished I was. About two week's worth of moments. Mycroft was… very, very angry. I had to sacrifice myself in order for Rose to keep the ship. Not much of a choice really.”_

\--------------------------------------------

It occurred to Sherlock in the first thirty minutes of his ‘must escape Mycroft’s clutches with all due speed’ plan that he had exactly nowhere to go. Mycroft, in all his seeing and knowing of everything, undoubtedly knew each of his favorite haunts around London, or at least the vast majority of them. Damn Mycroft and all his… Mycroftness.

This didn’t mean he couldn’t wander London aimlessly for several hours. There were always interesting things to see in this great city that seemed to be part of his very being. From its vast amusements to varying places to cart his little sister, to the never ending supply of people to watch and practice deductions, London was the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock had. Sure, there were some people he tolerated at university, but for the most part, people were stupid; and if they weren’t stupid, they were dull. But that had always been just fine for Sherlock. He had experiments, continued learning, detective work (or at least he would if NSY paid any attention to him at all, and given their crime solving rate they really, really should!), the whole of London and Rose.

Perhaps, in retrospect, he shouldn’t have spent quite so much money on Rose. She hadn’t asked for a pirate ship per se; rather she’d indicated how much she liked the pirate play sets they saw while shopping on Amazon for more ‘authentically piratey’ pirate gear. Yet that one little comment had made him instantly think about a real ship for Rose. She’d had a terrible fall, been very scared, and thankfully everything had turned out okay. Mycroft had purchased her gifts before when she’d been hurt or very sick, so why shouldn’t he? Granted, Mycroft had never bought a boat for the backyard, or anything even remotely on the same scale, but didn’t their Rose deserve it? Of course she did!

Rose deserved the very best of everything. The best he could give her, the best Mycroft could give her, the best childhood they could provide for her together in lieu of their deceased father and frequently ill and absent mother. They certainly weren’t anyone’s idea of good parents, or even parents as one generally understood the concept, but the brothers gave their all for Rose. Mother would understand, Sherlock was sure of it, though she’d certainly scold him about pick-pocketing Mycroft again. He’d gotten smacked for that before, several times in fact, but Sherlock knew she’d know that he really had the best intentions. Mycroft, however, clearly did _not_ understand and was going to make Sherlock pay dearly for borrowing his bank card and making such an expensive purchase. He really hoped Mycroft wouldn’t be mean enough or miserly enough to send the ship back! Mycroft had the biggest soft spot when it came to Rose and, despite his self appointed role as disciplinarian, Sherlock knew the eldest Holmes hated it more than anything when he was the cause of Rose’s tears.

But, Mycroft was also a manipulative bastard; at least in Sherlock’s opinion he was. He would probably offer Sherlock some horrid ultimatum, such as in exchange for letting Rose keep the ship, Sherlock would have to be his slave for a month or something equally repellent. No, that was a bit hopeful, even Sherlock knew that if he was honest. Mycroft was going to give him the spanking of his life, making all other spankings pale in comparison… and that was an awful lot of spankings to top.

\------------------------------------------

After wandering London for the better part of five hours, Sherlock finally made his way home. The house was quiet, meaning Rose must already be in bed. He was quiet as he let himself into the house but had no illusions that Mycroft would be doing anything other than waiting for his return.

“Ah, how good of you to come home, brother mine,” Mycroft greeted his brother from the sitting room. “Let’s go to my study and attend to business, shall we?” He led the way, expecting Sherlock to follow him and Mycroft wasn’t disappointed. He indicated that Sherlock should have a seat, then shut the door and went to sit behind his desk.

“Why?” Mycroft asked.

“Could you be more specific?” Sherlock inquired. “There’s many things you might be asking ‘why’ about. Why is the sky blue? Why a pirate ship? Why are baby ducks called ducklings? Why are you such an idiot? Why did Mother and Father think you were better than a puppy would be? Anything really.” He shrugged and kept his eyes downcast, trying not to show how nervous he actually was.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “It’s really not in your best interest to antagonize me Sherlock. Why did you steal my bank card and make such an outrageous purchase? You can’t possibly have thought I wouldn’t ever find out. For one thing, that’s a very large withdrawal of money. For another, there’s a bloody pirate ship in the backyard; rather hard to miss, wouldn’t you say?”

“Depends. How good is your eyesight these days Mycroft? Going the way of your hair, perhaps?”

“Just answer the questions Sherlock. I strongly suggest you do it now, or I’ll ask you mid-punishment and it’ll be much more difficult for you to provide them,” Mycroft warned.

“The baby fell. She wanted pirate gear. All good pirates have a ship. Isn’t all this self-explanatory?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “And isn’t 2500 pounds a ridiculous sum of money to spend on a ‘glad you feel better now’ gift for the baby? She doesn’t need your assistance in becoming thoroughly spoiled anymore than she needed an actual ship in the yard.”

“Of course she needed it! You wouldn’t have given your permission if we asked, so I decided not to bother. Initially I was just going to purchase some gear for her, including boots without laces, but then the idea of a ship came to mind and it just happened,” Sherlock replied, giving a sigh of his own.

“Well, this is as pointless as ever. You’re the most recalcitrant boy, Sherlock, and have ever only really come to understand the error of your ways by one method: a sore bottom,” Mycroft said sternly. “Which I am more than happy to provide you with in order to ensure you learn your lesson. But, in the spirit of fairness--”

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes.

“As I was saying,” Mycroft continued on. “In the spirit of fairness I’ll give you a choice. The ship can be returned, my money refunded and the whole matter done with. Or, you can take the punishment you so very much deserve and Rose can keep the ship.”

“Yes, because _that’s_ a fair choice,” Sherlock grumbled. “That’s no choice at all! Of course I’ll take the punishment so the baby can have her ship.”

Mycroft nodded and stood up, crossing the room to the closet.

Sherlock’s heart sank. He watched with wide eyes as Mycroft took his cane out of the closet and placed it on the desk.

“I think one stroke for every 150 pounds is fair,” Mycroft commented. “You’ll get sixteen.”

“2500 is not evenly divided by 16 Mycroft,” Sherlock responded without even thinking. “It’s--”

“Rounding up the decimals it’s seventeen, you’re correct. So you’d like seventeen then?” Mycroft smirked when Sherlock fell silent. “Right. Sixteen will do then. Trousers and pants down and bend over the desk.”

Sherlock rose from the chair with great reluctance. He’d been caned many times; mostly at school because he was a ‘problem child’ as in people had problems with the fact that he was smarter than they were. The cane was not fun and was in fact something he actually tried very hard to avoid, but had never been entirely successful with it at school.

Even Mycroft had caned him once and it had been absolutely awful. He’d been twelve and he’d set the house on fire. The excuse of “it was accidentally on purpose” (as in “I intended to make a fire, yes, but the fact that it got out of my control was completely accidental”) hadn’t gone over well with Mother. She’d insisted Mycroft cane him and Mycroft was, as usual, all too happy to do so. Mycroft had experience, Mother said; she’d never caned anyone before. Mycroft was a prefect and thereby very experienced. Oh yes, Mycroft was an expert at using a cane and he promised to make Sherlock the sorriest little boy in the world. Damn him if he didn’t. Sherlock hadn’t looked at fire quite the same way since.

There was no point in delaying the inevitable and Sherlock steeled his resolve by reminding himself that he was doing this for Rose. Undoing his trousers, he pushed them and his pants to his knees, face red with embarrassment, and bent over Mycroft’s desk. He’d seen the top of the desk from this angle far too many times in his lifetime.

“You will not put your hands back Sherlock, they must stay in front of you at all times,” Mycroft said firmly. “However, you may kick, stomp, shout, and cry, whatever else you need to do. I know canings aren’t easy, but the amount of money you stole from me warrants it. Are you ready?”

Biting his lip hard, Sherlock nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, merely because it made him feel better. The first stroke landed across the crest of his cheeks, immediately creating a sore pink stripe in its wake. He winced and curled his toes but didn’t move or cry out. By the time they were halfway through, however, the cumulative effect of the strokes had him quietly crying and stomping his feet after every stroke.

Mycroft was actually quite proud of how well Sherlock was taking the caning and he reached out briefly to pat his brother’s back in quiet encouragement. “Halfway there.” He raised the cane once more and brought it down neatly below the other eight evenly spaced strokes, cringing when Sherlock actually cried out this time. The cane continued its trek, as stroke after stroke landed, causing Sherlock to sob.

The twelfth stroke landed low across his bottom and Sherlock lost his tenuous hold on his self-control, jumping up from the desk and cupping his cheeks with his hands as he cried and stomped.

Mycroft wasn’t immune to his brother’s distress, even if it was a well deserved punishment. “Promise me that if I stop right now you will never steal my card or spend such a ridiculous amount of money again and I will trade the last four strokes for twenty minutes in the corner.”

“I promise, I promise!” Sherlock hurried to assure him, his words a bit garbled by his tears.

“Then go put your nose in the corner. If you ever do this again, I promise that you’ll get a dozen with the cane and then go over my knee for a hand spanking on top of it so think very, very, _very_ hard the next time you are tempted to do something like this,” Mycroft warned. He watched as Sherlock shuffled across the room to stand in the corner, looking much younger than his seventeen years. “And Sherlock? You took that very well,” he said sincerely. “Very well indeed.”

Sherlock would never admit it to a living soul, but Mycroft’s praise was just what he needed and wanted at that moment.

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock carefully redressed and made his way slowly up the stairs to his bedroom. The short walk in his too-tight clothing made it hurt even worse and he was crying silently once more as he divested his day clothes in favor of a t-shirt and very soft, baggy sleep pants. Ever so carefully he then got into bed and closed his eyes, trying to will himself to stop crying and sleep. Just as his tears subsided, Sherlock’s door opened and closed and he could hear the footfalls of tiny feet crossing the room.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” Sherlock murmured without even the hint of a scolding tone.

“I was,” Rose whispered. “But now I’m not.”

Sherlock chuckled softly. “Clearly. And how many times have you been out of bed this evening?”

“Twice.”

“Which means if Mycroft catches you out of bed again, you’re going to get it,” Sherlock warned. Mycroft had little tolerance for bedtime foolishness no matter how cute Rose was or how not tired she claimed to be. “You’d best get in; a bed is a bed.” He pulled back the blankets so Rose could crawl under them.

“Sherlock?” she asked as he tucked the covers around her.

“Hm?”

“You were sniffling when I came in,” Rose said very softly. “Did you get a very big spanking?”

Her big brother sighed, not really wanting to talk about it but seeing no real reason to hide it from her either. “Yes.”

“That’s too bad. Mycroft spanks very hard,” Rose said sympathetically. “Did you get cuddles?”

Sherlock shook his head and then proceeded to smile at his sister’s outraged look.

“But that’s the rule! You get a spanking and then you get cuddles until you feel better!” Rose exclaimed. “That’s what Mummy says and Mycroft does it every time with me and I always feel better after. Well, not my bum,” she admitted. “But other than that I feel all better after cuddles. Didn’t you want any?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Cuddles from Mycroft? Um, no. I’m good,” he replied. “He and I don’t cuddle. Never have.”

“Then I’ll give you cuddles, so you can feel better!” Her little hand reached out and began to gently rub circles on his back. “There, there,” Rose said gently, mimicking Mycroft’s post-spanking cuddle talk. “I know it hurts, but it’ll be alright. You’ll be just fine, I promise. You were very brave and you’re such a good boy. Cry it all out—this is the part where you cry,” Rose explained. “If you want—Cry it all out, you’ll be alright. I love you very much. Shh, shh, you’re alright. I love you and I’ll always love you, even when you do very, very ridiculous things. I’m sure you’ll never, ever do it again.”

It took everything Sherlock had to keep from laughing. It was really just too adorable that she was so concerned about him having proper cuddles and to hear her recite the words Mycroft used to soothe her after a smacking.

“This is the part where you say that it hurts too much and I’ll never sit again ever in all my whole long life,” Rose encouraged.

Funnily enough, that was precisely how it felt! “It hurts too much and I’ll never sit again, and I’m very sad about it,” Sherlock murmured.

“It’ll feel better in the morning,” Rose assured him.

That Sherlock very much doubted.

“And now you get a kiss on your head.” She stopped rubbing his back and leaned over to give him a kiss. “There! Now you’re all cuddled up. That’s lovely, isn’t it?”

Sherlock smiled and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “It is lovely and I feel so much better. Thank you.” He dropped a kiss on top of her wild curls that mirrored his own. “And now it’s time for us to sleep.”

“Okay,” Rose agreed, closing her eyes.

Sherlock remained awake a while, watching Rose sleep. God his arse hurt! But it was worth it so Rose could keep her ship; he’d do it all over again if he had to, though really, his arse would prefer not to. In fact, there really wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for the tiny sleeping girl he proudly called sister.


	19. Mycroft & the Potted Plant of Doom

Once upon a time there was a balcony on which a dreadful incident occurred. It was an incident so terrible that it nearly gave Mycroft a heart attack and prompted him to immediately move Rose’s playroom from a room with a balcony to a room without one in order to avoid repeat incidents. The fact that the room changing forced Sherlock to give up his room rather than Mycroft give up his own was the only icing on the cake that day.

“If you ever climb up on this railing again for any reason whatsoever, I will ground you until you’re twenty and spank you every single day in perpetuity,” Mycroft threatened as he crushed the crying five-year-old to his chest. “Promise me you will never, ever do that again Rose.”

“Promise! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” the little girl repeated through her tears. It was truly the most tragic day in her entire life, having just received her very first spanking from a very displeased eldest brother.

“I know poppet, I know you are,” Mycroft replied in a soft tone. Now that the smacking was done it was time for soothing, a task that he was surprisingly well equipped for. Cradling her in his arms, Mycroft carried his sobbing sister to the rocking chair in her room and sat down to cuddle her close. One hand gave her red bum a gentle rub, revealing how much of a brute Mycroft actually felt like, despite knowing it had been well earned and completely appropriate for the situation.

“Shhhh, shhh, cry it all out poppet. You’ll be alright, I promise. I love you, you know that? I love you very, very much even when you do very ridiculous things,” Mycroft soothed. “You’re my good, brave girl, poppet.” Within moments, his gentle tone combined with the rocking had put Rose right to sleep.

_Three Years Later_

“But I want to go!” Rose shouted at her oldest brother. “It’s not fair, everyone else gets to go!”

“Well I want to lock you away somewhere far, far away from me, but regrettably, we can’t always have what we want, can we?” Mycroft replied. “I also wanted to have a normal day at the office with no life threatening situations. Instead I receive a call from your school, saying they couldn’t reach Mother and you and Louise were involved in a fight with three other children, could I please come retrieve you immediately.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “I didn’t start that Mycroft, you know I didn’t! I just--”

Mycroft went from merely looking displeased and disgruntled to looking downright murderous. “So help me god if you say ‘I just finished it’ I will take you out to the car and spank you all the way to the office and then have my driver return you here where you will be grounded for a week and get the spanking you’re owed when I get home. Does that sound like a good plan to you, two spankings and a grounding, or would you rather just shut up now and go to your room so I can return to work and not strangle you?”

“You’d do that?” Rose gasped, her eyes wide. “You’d really spank me in a moving car? Isn’t that rather dangerous Mycroft? You can’t be serious, surely!”

“I don’t make idle threats, do I young lady?” Mycroft asked. He was gratified when she shook her head ‘no’ enthusiastically.

Rose bit her lower lip slightly. “But… but My,” she whispered.

At the end of his limited patience, Mycroft picked Rose up and tucked her under one arm, balancing her on his hip with her bottom in prime position for a quick smacking. “Will you please do as you are told Rosenwyn Aramantha?” he asked, a hearty swat accompanying each word.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, _owww!_ Yes, I’ll go to my room! Oww!” Rose yelled, squirming and wriggling despite her clear inability to get free. As soon as Mycroft put her down she ran upstairs as fast as she could. He was the meanest brother in the whole wide world to make her miss the party with all her other classmates. Well, she’d show _him_ just what she thought of _that._

Ducking into her room, Rose retrieved a balloon and hurried to the loo to fill it with water. It would serve her brother right to get soaked before going back to work! If she was going to get a spanking anyway, then what did it matter if she added this to her list of misdeeds? When the balloon was full she tied off the end and darted across the hallway and into Sherlock’s room. Going straight onto the balcony that was above the front walk, she crawled on top of the railing and waited for her victim to emerge.

“Rose! What are you doing in my room? Don’t you disturb those plants I’m growing, they’re earmarked for an experiment,” Sherlock warned as he came into his room.

Having not anticipated Sherlock to suddenly appear mid-misbehavior, Rose was startled to hear him call to her and enter the room. Her precarious balance on top of the railing was shaken when she jumped, her knees hitting one of the potted plants. Rose tried to grab it but wasn’t fast enough and watched in horror as it fell, landing squarely on top of Mycroft’s head as he was exiting the house.

Sherlock, who had just stepped onto the balcony watched as Mycroft was hit with the potted plant, tottering on his feet for a moment before simply falling over face first onto the lawn. “Mycroft! Stop being dramatic and get up!” he called down to his brother.

“You,” he said, turning to Rose. “Not good.” Damn it, Sherlock thought to himself. If Mycroft didn’t get up _he_ would have to spank Rose for breaking the balcony rule. “Stupid Mycroft,” he grumbled as he looked out on the still not-moving body of his brother. “Just had to go and be unconscious, probably on purpose so I had to be the mean brother.” His face settled into his typical sulky look as he called to Mycroft twice more.

Damn it though if it wasn’t rather hilarious! His lips twitched as he fought a smile while he turned to Rose once more. “You. Not acceptable at all.”

The littlest Holmes looked up at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You don’t sound like you really believe that was unacceptable,” she countered.

“That is irrelevant,” Sherlock scolded. “You and this balcony have had issues before.”

Rose heaved a sigh. “I was five!”

“Well now you’re eight and equally ridiculous. You’d best go to your room,” Sherlock decided.

“Nooooooo, why?” Rose immediately whined. Sherlock could usually be won over with a combination of whining, sad puppy faces, and tears.

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to sigh. “You know why! Don’t make me say it and don’t make me be mean either,” he half-pleaded.

“You _are_ mean if you’re going to spank me!” Rose put on her best sad puppy face, trying to gain some sympathy. Sadly, Sherlock was not responding as he usually did. How odd.

“I’m a lot less mean than Mycroft will be later, I can promise you that,” Sherlock warned.

Rose paused to consider his words. “You make an excellent point,” she admitted with a huff.

“Good, now go to your room. I need to go make sure he’s not dead or something, because that would just be inconvenient,” Sherlock grumbled as he ushered Rose away from the balcony.

“Oh my god he might be dead?!” Rose shrieked. “I just wanted to get him wet, not kill him! The plant was an accident, I swear!”

Sherlock gently gave her a push in the direction of her room. “An accident that wouldn’t have occurred if you’d been on the balcony floor and not the railing. You shouldn’t have even been in my room in the first place,” he pointed out, giving her as stern a look as he could muster. Provided Mycroft wasn’t dead or grievously injured, this would turn out rather hilarious in his view, which made it a challenge to be cross with Rose.

“But Sherlock, I can’t throw as well when I’m not on _top_ of the railing. I’m short!” Rose pointed out.

“Besides,” he continued on. “I’m sure he’s not dead. He’s far too insufferable; couldn’t possibly miss out on his chance to plague our very existence with his irritating self for the remainder of our lives.” Sherlock suddenly stopped in his tracks as Rose’s words infiltrated his ranting about Mycroft. “So this is not the first time you’ve attempted launching projectiles off the balcony then, is it? Because you wouldn’t know it didn’t work standing on the balcony itself if you hadn’t tried it prior to today and discerned that the railing was necessary due to your stature.”

Rose swallowed loudly, looking a bit like a deer in headlights as she realized that that statement hadn’t helped her case. This she knew because Sherlock was giving her his ‘I’m very cross with you’ glare and not his ‘I’m pretending to be cross’ glare. “I’m going to shut up now,” she said very quietly. “I think I’ll wander in the general direction of my room now.” A hand went behind her to protect her bum from any well aimed smacks as she turned her back to Sherlock.

“You are a menace, do you know that?” Sherlock growled, smacking the back of her thigh rather than her bum as she hurried to move away. “I’m putting some sort of gate on that railing first thing tomorrow, just so you’re aware!”

Unwilling to back down from a challenge, and thus far not taking her coming spanking from Sherlock particularly seriously, Rose merely snorted and replied, “Yeah, I’ll just climb it.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?!” Sherlock shouted.

Rose spun around as she heard Sherlock stalking towards her. “I meant to say that I could climb it, but that I would never, ever do such a reckless and potentially dangerous act. That would just be silly.” She yelped as he smacked the back of her thighs again.

“Isn’t everything you do reckless, potentially dangerous and incredibly silly?” he accused.

“Hey! That’s unfair Sherlock! You’re the one that melted a hole in the oak hardwood floor last week and tried to cover it up by moving the sideboard like no one would notice you rearranged the dining room!”

“That was done in the name of science and sacrifices must be made in order to have breakthroughs,” Sherlock replied, glaring at her.

His defiant little sister snorted once again. “That’s a load of crap if ever I heard one. No, owie owie!” She squealed as Sherlock swatted her bum twice.

“Language! Clearly you want a very good spanking from me, don’t you? Am I going to have to give it right here in the hallway, Rose? Because we can do that if you insist,” he threatened.

“No! I said crepe!” Rose insisted. “Because I love pancakes. And it’s relevant… and… things.” Her hands went behind her to rub the rising sting from her bum while giving him an epic pout.

“Mmhm. I think your sense of self-preservation has deserted you. I highly suggest you go to your room as I told you to before I decide this is too much work and turn you over to Mycroft, provided he ever regains consciousness.” Sherlock rolled his eyes as Rose stomped all the way into her bedroom with a heavy dose of unnecessary drama.

“I HAVE THE WORST BROTHERS IN THE WORLD!” Rose shouted dramatically as she flopped onto her bed. “How will I ever survive you two?”

“No, you don’t. Cain killed his brother, so clearly Abel had the worst brother in the world,” Sherlock called back as he headed for the stairs.

“Or maybe Abel was really, really mean and Cain was doing the world a great favor by saving people from his utter meanness!” Rose retorted.

Since he was out of Rose’s sight, Sherlock smiled and even chuckled a bit under his breath. “I’m ignoring you now in favor of ascertaining Mycroft’s health!”

\---------------------------------------------

Maud Holmes returned from the doctor’s to a home in utter chaos. Exiting the vehicle she saw her two boys on the lawn, one on his face being slowly turned over by the other. “How in the name of… What happened? Sherlock, what did you do to your brother?!” Maud demanded.

“Why do you assume it’s my fault?” Sherlock asked, looking up at his mother with a frown.

“Well, statistically dear…” Maud began. “And I fail to see how Rose could have caused Myc to black out on the lawn. She’s rather small. Mikey? Mikey, its Mummy, are you alright dear?” She knelt down beside her eldest child who was slowly but surely waking up.

Mycroft gained consciousness slowly, his head throbbing and tender even as his mother gently touched his brow and called him that ridiculous nickname. He reached out for his mother and brother. “Where is Rose? Is she safe?” he asked with a groan. “What’s the blast radius? Is the house destroyed?”

Sherlock snorted. “Hardly. The baby hit you with a potted plant. I think she’s making up for lost time and missed opportunities. However, I can assure you that all the things she’s been up to that I, naturally, have not taught her or encouraged her in any fashion. Though it was rather amusing watching you fall over like a felled tree right onto your face. Your nose didn’t break, which is really unfortunate. It might have improved your looks.”

“IS HE DEAD OR NOT?!” Rose shouted from the balcony. Her feet were still technically on the balcony itself as she stood on her tiptoes, trying to see if Mycroft was still among the living. She froze when Sherlock looked back at her with a look that did not bode well for her bum.

“He is not dead, but you’re about to be! Your room, _now_!” Sherlock shouted with an air of authority that took even Maud by surprise. He was highly gratified as Rose hurriedly disappeared from the balcony.

Mycroft groaned again, Sherlock’s shouting seemingly reverberating in his head. “I think I need a holiday from our dear sister,” he murmured.

“Well, that’s unfortunate, because you’re the mean brother so you can’t leave,” Sherlock informed him in a firm tone. “Knowing Rose your holiday would only last about two days, if you’re lucky, before she’d cause chaos massive enough to require you to be summoned home. Besides, I’m not being the mean brother for an extended period of time merely because you decide to be lazy. Besides, you’d just eat cake all day anyway.” Despite his taunts, Sherlock helped his older brother to sit up without reacquainting himself intimately with the lawn once again.

“You two are going to kill me one of these days,” Mycroft said with a resigned sigh. “Also, I blame you both for my receding hairline.”

Sherlock snorted. “God, Mycroft, might as well add your expanding waistline to the list of things Rose and I inflict upon your poor beleaguered person. Although I personally have no memory of ever shoving cake in your face, as amusing as that would be. Therefore, you’re wrong.” He smiled brightly at this pronouncement. Sherlock was always very joyful when he was right and Mycroft was wrong!

\---------------------------------------------

Twenty minutes later Sherlock climbed the stairs with grim determination. The first time he’d spanked Rose, Sherlock had been convinced he’d hurt her and felt like an utter brute. In the time since then, three years to be exact, he’d got over that to a certain extent. He knew he wouldn’t hurt her, though sometimes he still felt like a brute. He really much preferred to be the fun brother, but that just wasn’t always possible sometimes, like now for instance. Mother was exhausted, having got back from a visit to the surgery, Mycroft was still mildly incapacitated from the potted plant falling on his head and needed to return to work as soon as possible, which left only him to deal with Rose. And deal with her he would.

Though it had been very amusing to see Mycroft fall face first into the lawn, the reason for such amusement happening was not a good one. Rose knew better than to be on the balcony railing and shouldn’t have even been in his room in the first place! This wasn’t her first run-in with the balcony in question, so that had to be factored in as well. Add her sass, bad language, and general inability to do a damn thing he said throughout the fiasco and Sherlock quickly found himself ready, willing and able to teach his sister a good lesson.

After knocking briefly on her door, Sherlock let himself into her room and shut the door. He tried to prepare himself for the onslaught of begging and pleading that was going to come his way when Rose spotted the wooden ruler he had in three…two…

“Noooooo, Sherlock please,” Rose whimpered. “You don’t need that, I promise, I’ll be very, very good. I don’t want that!” She grabbed her teddy, oh-so-creatively named Teddy, and buried her face in it.

With a sigh, he crossed the room and sat down beside her. He was relieved when Rose readily traded Teddy for a cuddle from him. Setting down the ruler, Sherlock gathered her up in his arms and held on to her tightly. “I know you don’t. I’m not any happier about having to use it,” Sherlock admitted. “Do you know why I have to?” He gently rubbed her back as he held her close.

Rose shook her head no, but before Sherlock could respond she lifted her face from his chest and looked up at him. “Is My ok?”

Sherlock kissed her forehead. “Well it didn’t make him any less insufferable by any means, but yes, he’s fine. The same old Mycroft we’ve always had around to plague us.”

The little girl let out a sigh of relief before pressing her face against his chest once more, clearly giving up on any meaningful discussion that involved her participation. “If you don’t want to talk that’s alright, I can do all the talking. You can just nod. Nod for me if you understand.” Sherlock smiled as she nodded.

“You, Rosie, have had quite the day. Now, I’m not doing anything at all about the issue at school, that’s all Mycroft’s territory. I’m just concerned with what you did here at home. Safety is the number one rule always in the house, isn’t it?” Sherlock asked.

“Not when you’re experimenting,” Rose pointed out as she lifted her face from his chest. “I did say you made that hole in the floor and that’s not very safe.”

“You’re too clever Rosenwyn,” Sherlock told her, gently poking her nose with a finger. “But we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. Now I know that you know, because you’re so smart and clever, that you aren’t allowed on the balcony in my room or any room in the house. We don’t want you to fall and get hurt and every time you’re on a balcony you get up on the railing.” He smiled a bit as she buried her face once more and merely continued to rub her back. “You understand that don’t you?”

Rose nodded, her little hands winding into his shirt. She’d done that for as long as he could remember and he always found it particularly endearing. He would not, however, let that deter him, Sherlock silently vowed.

“And because you broke the rule about balconies, Mycroft ended up getting hurt. But more importantly _you_ could have been hurt. That wasn’t the only problem though, was it?” Sherlock waited for her to nod, knowing it was done quite reluctantly when she did so. “I don’t often order you around like I did today, I know. That’s Mycroft’s milieu as the mean brother. But when I do tell you to do something, like go to your room and stay there, you do need to listen. I have reasons--”

“So I have to listen because reasons?” Rose whined a bit, peeking up at him once more.

“Yes. When you’ve misbehaved, you need to listen to me. I don’t tell you something just to hear myself speak--”

“Sometimes I think maybe you do,” Rose interrupted. “I know Mycroft does for sure.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but think that this talk was starting to get off track. “Rosenwyn, it’s time to listen,” he said. “Not to make commentary about Mycroft, even if it is true. Now is the time to listen. Are you going to listen or do you need to spend time reflecting in the corner?”

Rose sniffled and buried her face once more, promising to listen- or at least that’s what Sherlock thought she said through the fabric of his button-up. “Good girl,” he praised. “It’s important that you listen to me when I tell you to do something, especially when I’m being quite stern about it and the more you resist, the more trouble you get in. It’s not nice to be sassy with me and stomp and have bad language just because you don’t appreciate what I’m telling you. I know you can behave better and I know you know that too. Am I right?”

Another little nod, just enough that her curls bounced slightly but her head itself seemed not to move at all.

“So do you understand why you’re having a spanking and why I brought the ruler with me?”

“Yes, but I don’t have to like it very much,” Rose answered, once more through his shirt.

“No, you don’t,” Sherlock agreed as he hugged her tight. “I think we should get this done now, so that we can cuddle more. I want you to stand up and unbutton your trousers and go across my knee.” He braced himself for the sniffling that he knew would accompany this part. Sure enough, as Rose slid off his lap and onto her feet, she began sniffling earnestly.

“Should I hold your hand?” Sherlock asked as he helped her over his lap. He made quick work of pulling down her trousers and pants and held his hand out for hers. When Rose put her hand back, he took it in his and held it gently against her side, both as a precaution for keeping it out of the way and to help her be brave.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock picked up the ruler. It was light, but would definitely sting. He tapped it lightly against her bum, almost a little unsure of himself. He’d never used an implement on Rose before and he nearly faltered when she whimpered. Raising the ruler up a bit he brought it down sharply across the crest of her cheeks, wincing in sympathy when a pink line was left in the ruler’s wake.

“Ow! Sherlock no more!” Rose pleaded.

“Yes more,” Sherlock replied. “I don’t ever, ever want you to climb on a balcony railing again so this is going to be a spanking to remember.” Despite his stern words, his left hand squeezed the tiny one he was holding. The ruler smacked down twice more, each swat below the one before it, slowly painting her cheeks pink.

After the third swat of the ruler, Rose burst into tears and began squirming over his lap. Sherlock didn’t blame her a bit and, in the interests of getting it over and done with for them both, sped things up a bit. The ruler snapped down several more times and he drew the spanking to a close with three sound swats across her sit spots. Rose broke down in sobs, her free hand grabbing onto his trouser leg for dear life.

“Alright, we’re all done now,” Sherlock soothed. He let go of her hand and began rubbing her back soothingly. “You’ll be alright.”

“No I won’t!” Rose sobbed. “Owie, owie, ouch Sherlock!” She couldn’t see it, but her tears made her big brother cringe.

Sherlock quickly righted her clothing and then cuddled her to his chest, rocking her gently. “You did so well Rosie. I know that was hard and your bum stings, but it’ll feel better soon, I promise. You’re a good girl. I love you very much,” he said in a soft, crooning tone. “You’ll be alright, I promise. You’ll even live to misbehave another day.”

Rose shook her head and held onto him as tight as she could with one hand while the other reached back to rub her bottom. “No I won’t, I don’t want any more spanking, oww!”

“I know sweetheart, I know,” he soothed. “Hold on to me as tight as you want, I won’t let go until you’re ready.” Sherlock kissed the top of her head. “I love you Rosie. Please just be safe. I don’t want to lose you.” This he whispered in her ear, the words for her and her alone.

“Can I go tell Mycroft I’m sorry that I hit him with the pot?” Rose asked after several minutes of cuddles and soothing whispers had dried up her tears. “And I’m sorry to you too, because that was your plant and now it’s probably dead. I bet Mycroft’s head cracked the pot open.”

“Well, he does have a hard head,” Sherlock admitted with a laugh. “But I think it would be very nice if you found Mycroft and apologized. That’s a very grown up thing to do,” Sherlock praised. “Take this back to him as well.” He put the ruler in her hand and almost laughed again at the look of horror on her face. “It’s not going to start smacking your bum of its own accord Rose! Just bring it back to Mycroft and he’ll put it away.”

Somehow Sherlock knew this would not be the last time that ruler was used to give her a sound spanking for one thing or another. She would always keep them on their toes. With a last kiss to her forehead, Sherlock put Rose back on her feet and watched as she hurried out of the room in search of Mycroft, holding the ruler delicately with as few fingers as possible. Shaking his head, he followed her back downstairs, happy the unpleasant part of things was done with.

The first person Rose ran into downstairs was Maud, who happily took the ruler away from Rose and hugged her little girl close as Rose entered the sitting room. “Be careful baby, we only have one of you,” she murmured, kissing the top of Rose’s head.

Thank god for that, Mycroft couldn’t help but think as he lay on the couch. The world wouldn’t survive more than one Rose Holmes.

The little girl sighed happily and snuggled close, breathing in her mother’s perfume. “Sorry Mummy,” Rose said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to hurt My.”

Maud kissed Rose’s cheek. “I know darling, I know,” she soothed. She even gave Rose’s bum a gentle rub, knowing her littlest had had quite a spanking and though it was well deserved, that didn’t mean she couldn’t help make it just a bit better.

“Mummy, Sherlock spanked me around a hundred times and I’m very sore,” Rose whined, looking for sympathy.

“Twelve. It was twelve, not even close to one hundred,” Sherlock corrected, rolling his eyes at his sister’s antics.

Their mother chuckled and released her littlest, watching as Rose crossed the room to where Mycroft was lying on the couch.

Without even a second of hesitation, Rose joined her oldest brother and cuddled close, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m really sorry My,” Rose said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to hit you with a plant. I was just going to throw a water balloon at you and that wouldn’t have hurt at all, but that didn’t work out well. But I mean it, I’m very sorry I hurt you.”

Mycroft gave her a small smile, wrapping his arms around her. “Oh, I’m quite sure you are very sorry indeed. I heard your wailing from all the way down here, sister dear.”

Rose’s face flushed red. “I did not wail,” she whined. “I take back my sorries. Sherlock was right; you’re just as insufferable as always. The pot didn’t change you at _all_.”

“No amount of potted flora would make Mycroft less insufferable Rose,” Sherlock responded. “You’d have better luck getting him into your dancing gear than making him less of an irritant.” He paused as his mind conjured a visual of that comment. “Dear god, that’s horrifying. I’m deleting that mental image in order to preserve my sanity.”

“That’s not fair, I can’t delete that from my mind and that was a horrid picture,” Rose replied, scowling at him. “And look at Mycroft, he looks very distressed and that’s not nice at all.”

Mycroft refrained from shaking his head and settled for rolling his eyes while he held Rose a little closer. “My life,” he murmured.

“I think I broke him,” Rose whispered. “Is he broken? He didn’t even say anything nasty to you and he always does, even when Mummy is here.”

Sherlock looked at his brother and smirked. “One could only hope Rose; one could only hope.”

 


	20. Playing Mary Poppins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place prior to chapter 15 (Big Bang) and is the original balcony incident referenced in chapter 18 (Mycroft & the Potted Plant of Doom).

“MYCROFT!”

It was just past 5pm on a Friday evening and Mycroft Holmes had just arrived home. He’d barely got inside the door before he heard the voice of his little sister practically screeching his name. Having just enough time to put down his briefcase, he deftly caught the five-year-old who predictably launched herself at him. Mycroft held her close as she wrapped her little arms around his neck and nuzzled her face against his neck with a contented little sigh.

“Well, this is quite the welcome home,” Mycroft chuckled, kissing the top of her head. “I’d feel quite flattered if I didn’t know better. You want something from me, don’t you poppet? Something I’m going to say no to. Am I right?” He settled Rose on his hip, picked up his briefcase and carried both into his study.

“Alright, what is it you want?” Mycroft asked as he sat down and put Rose in his lap.

“Will you play with me? Please?” She looked up at him with an eager little face that made him feel all the more guilty for not being able to say yes. At least not straight away.

“I can’t just yet. I need to finish up some things for work,” Mycroft said gently, rubbing her back to soften the disappointment. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when Rose made a little noise of protest and began playing with a button on his waistcoat. “Why don’t we sit together for a few minutes?” he offered. “You can tell me all about what you’ve done today and then after supper we’ll do something together. Does that sound like a good compromise?”

“I suppose,” Rose said with a sigh. Despite her seeming reluctance at accepting his offer for a quick cuddle she snuggled close and launched into a detailed report of everything she’d been up to that day. Most of it Mycroft didn’t quite catch, his mind elsewhere with much bigger problems, but he heard snippets of it that included playing with Louise and something about a film they’d watched together.

“You’ve been a very busy girl,” Mycroft commented, kissing the top of her head. “I need to get back to work now, if we’re going to do spend time together after supper.”

Rose’s eyes lit up. “Can we have a tea party?”

“May.”

“Huh?”

Mycroft chuckled. “It’s _may_ we have a tea party.”

“Oh.” Rose frowned a bit, scrunching up her nose as she absorbed the correction. “May we have a tea party when we play later? Please My, please? We haven’t had a tea party in forever and Sherlock says he won’t have tea with me because he doesn’t want to wear the fairy wings again after you laughed at him last time.”

“Well I’m certainly not wearing fairy wings, or strange floppy hats or anything else your clever little mind thinks is necessary,” Mycroft warned. “If you can accept those conditions then yes, you may host a tea party that I will attend.”

“Conditions accepted!” The little girl kissed his cheek and slid off his lap to let him work.

Mycroft immediately retrieved items from his briefcase and began examining them, effectively tuning out everything around him.

“MY!” Rose called from the hall. “Mycroft may I borrow your brolly, please?”

“Mmm hmm, that’s fine dear,” the brother in question answered absentmindedly.

After retrieving Mycroft’s brolly from the stand by the front door, Rose bounded up the stairs. It would be the perfect brolly to use for her experiment! Ever since watching _Mary Poppins_ that afternoon at Louise’s house, Rose had been curious to see if she could fly, too. She and Louise had had a serious discussion about how they might experiment and find out if they were magic like Mary Poppins but sadly, Louise lived in a first floor flat. Rose, however, lived in a three story house with balconies for each of the bedrooms on the second floor. She promised her best friend that she would conduct an experiment and let Louise know about its results and since Mycroft couldn’t play with her just then, why not do it now?

Brolly in hand Rose went into her mother’s room and retrieved a bag similar to Mary Poppins’s in the movie. The pattern was different but a carpet bag was a carpet bad, surely! She then brought the items to her playroom and threw a few things in the bag that any good nanny would need: a baby blanket, a couple bottles and a few small toys. Once she had everything necessary, Rose opened the doors to the balcony outside her playroom and stepped out onto it.

That was when she encountered a problem. The balcony had a railing and it was a tall railing at that. There was no way she could just jump from the balcony and go flying. Sticking her tongue out of her mouth a tiny bit as she thought, Rose easily came to a conclusion. The bag was hoisted on top of the tall railing, quite a feat in and of itself considering her rather small stature. The umbrella was much easier to deal with as Rose could hook it onto the railing itself. That left just her to get on top of the railing.

Given her size, it took the determined five-year-old several minutes to climb the railing, trying first this and then that to boost herself up. Finally she was on top of it, feeling incredibly triumphant at having accomplished such a difficult task. Rose picked up the brolly and opened it up, holding it in her right hand, then grabbed the carpet bag with her left. “One… two… three!” On three Rose stepped off the railing.

\-----------------------------------------------

An ear piercing scream drew Mycroft’s attention away from his paperwork. He shot up from his chair, intending to go ascertain the problem when the issue made itself known to him. The screaming came closer and Mycroft looked over at the window just in time to see Rose plummeting to the earth, her tiny body landing with a sickening thud that was followed by frantic tears. His heart stopped for a few seconds before Mycroft ran outside, expecting to find Rose’s body mangled and broken.

“Rose! Rose! Oh my god.” Mycroft knelt down beside his crying sister, her body mere inches from the pavement. “Don’t move poppet, don’t move at all. Where does it hurt? SHERLOCK!” he bellowed for their brother. Rose was crying too hard to answer him properly and Mycroft ran his hands gently along her limbs, feeling for cuts or broken bones. Belatedly, one he ascertained that she was uninjured, he heard Rose saying something through her tears.

“I’m not Mary Poppins!” the little girl wailed.

Mycroft frowned. What the hell did that mean? It was only then that he saw the carpet bag nearby and the broken umbrella. _His_ umbrella, very much broken. “Rose, what are you on about?” he asked, helping her up from the grass.

The little girl reached for him and Mycroft readily took her into his arms, hugging her close. “I’m not Mary Poppins and I can’t fly!” she sobbed out. “I wanted to fly like her My!”

It took him twenty seconds or so to fully process what she was saying and the implications of it and by the time he’d finished processing, Mycroft was furious. He held the little girl at arm’s length and gave her a very stern look. “You were trying to fly like Mary Poppins… And where exactly did your attempt to fly originate, Rosenwyn? Are you telling me that you jumped out of a _window_?”

Rose recognized her big brother’s tone as one that Mycroft always used when he was very unhappy with someone. “I didn’t jump out a window, I jumped off the balcony,” she explained. Her eyes widened as Mycroft’s face went red.

“You jumped off the balcony railing to see if you could fly like Mary Poppins?! With my brolly?!” Mycroft shouted. He didn’t wait for her to respond and instead turned her to the side and landed a few hearty smacks to her bottom, completely ignoring the tears that started once again. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m going to give you something to really cry about,” he threatened. “You go upstairs to your bedroom right this minute and wait for me Rosenwyn. GO! _NOW!_ ” He watched with satisfaction as Rose took off running into the house, refusing to feel badly that he’d made her cry.

By the time Sherlock had got outside, it was clear that Rose was somehow uninjured despite her fall from two stories up. It was nothing less than a miracle, he was certain. The middle Holmes remained outside, watching his siblings and moved out of the way as Rose dashed into the house. Sherlock knew that look on his brother’s face and it had never boded well for his bum.

“Mycroft, no, you can’t,” Sherlock spoke up, his tone a bit pleading on Rose’s behalf. “You can’t spank her.” A few swats over her clothing were one thing but Mycroft had that look on his face that indicated a long session across his knee with a bare bum was in Rose’s future.

Mycroft stood up and looked at Sherlock, an eyebrow raised challengingly. “I can’t? I don’t really think I have any other choice. She just _jumped_ of a second story balcony, which to me screams, I need a sore reminder that that was a particularly poor choice. What else would you have me do?”

The younger Holmes brother rolled his eyes. “I highly doubt she was thinking any such thing, other than you were being mean and shouted at her, which you know upsets her. And… well, she’s going to cry!”

“Yes, that’s generally how someone responds to a smacking,” Mycroft agreed, sighing heavily. He didn’t like this anymore than Sherlock did.

“But… but…” Sherlock tried to protest.

“No Sherlock, there’s no ‘but’ to this. Either I do something now or I do nothing and she tries it again and hits the pavement next time rather than the grass. Or who knows what else she’ll think up to do and get hurt?”

Sherlock scowled. “But she’s little. She’s really, really little Mycroft. Far too little to spank.”

“And she could be very dead; very little and very dead, if I don’t make it perfectly clear that this is unacceptable,” Mycroft responded. “I’m not going to injure her and you know that. She’ll have a sore bottom and learn a good lesson but she’ll survive it. You can cuddle her and tell her what a mean brother I am afterwards if you’re that concerned.”

“I will then!” Sherlock decided with a nod. He was less than pleased with Mycroft but knew he could do nothing to further plead Rose’s case. Rather than stick around and hear his little sister get spanked, he hurried off to the dining room to distract himself with a loud experiment.

Mycroft took a moment to himself in the yard, now that his heart rate had returned to normal and could practically feel the adrenaline bursts subsiding. She had come so close, so very, very close to death and didn’t even realize it. He’d faced a great many frightening situations in his life but nothing had terrified him as much as seeing her little body on the ground. Taking a deep breath, Mycroft picked up the carpet bag and his broken beyond repair brolly and went inside to deal with his mischievous little sister.

\-----------------------------------------

Climbing the stairs with far more reluctance than he had expected to feel, Mycroft finally reached the door of Rose’s bedroom and knocked lightly before letting himself in. He was pleased to find her sitting on her bed waiting for him, for once having chosen to listen to him the first time he told her to do something. Children were exhausting and he questioned the sanity of parents who had large numbers of children, whether or not those children were as active or clever as his Rose.

“What in the world were you thinking Rose?” Mycroft asked as he sat down beside her on the bed. “You could have been injured or even killed! You were lucky you didn’t slam into the pavement. In fact I have no idea how you managed to avoid it!”

The little girl snuggled up to his side and Mycroft wrapped an arm around her. “It wasn’t really that high,” Rose told him quietly. “Maybe it would work from higher up, if I had more wind power? I was experimenting and I thought about the roof, but then I remembered Sherlock told me you do tests in little steps. That’s why I thought the balcony would be better to see if I could be Mary Poppins. Then, if it worked, I was going to try the roof if I could find a way up there.”

Mycroft stared at her, his mouth hanging up for nearly a full minute before he regained his ability to speak. “That is nowhere _near_ comforting Rosenwyn Aramantha! You do _not_ jump from balconies or roofs or anywhere else! That’s dangerous Rosenwyn! You’re going to kill me, do you realize that?”

“I really thought it would work My,” she whimpered, still sounding far more upset about not being Mary Poppins than the fact that she put her life in danger.

Mycroft extracted her grip on him and set her on the floor, looking down at her sternly. Immediately Rose looked down but he tipped her chin up and held onto it. “I am very, very, _very_ angry with you Rosenwyn. What is the number one rule in this house that everyone has to obey?” He gave her an expectant look.

Rose whimpered just a bit. “Be safe.”

“Yes, be safe,” he agreed. “And make safe choices. Do you honestly think it is a safe choice to jump off a second story balcony?”

A little sigh escaped her this time. “I didn’t think about it like that.”

“Clearly not. It’s my job to remind you that it is important to think about those things. That you must stop and think before you decide to do something and remember what is safe and what is not. Because you broke the most important rule, you’re going to have a spanking,” Mycroft explained.

“But I already got one!” Rose protested, looking up at him with a pout.

For a few seconds Mycroft’s resolve almost faltered as her sweet little face looked up at him that way. It didn’t help matters that Rose had recently had her haircut a bit shorter and with all her curls resembled a dark haired and, in his opinion, cuter version of Shirley Temple. Then he remembered how terrified he’d felt before realizing she was, amazingly enough, unhurt.

“No, you had a few swats over your clothes, not a proper spanking,” Mycroft told her. “You’re going to have a proper spanking over my knee because you did something so very, very unsafe. That way you’ll remember to think about safety the next time you get an idea in that clever little mind of yours.” He hugged Rose tightly and kissed the top of her head.

“I’m sorry My,” Rose said softly.

“I know poppet, I know. But there are consequences for our actions, for everything we do, and this is the consequence for not being safe. Each and every time you do something unsafe, I’m going to spank you, so that you learn to stay safe. I do it because I want you safe, so very much,” he whispered in her ear. With gentle movements he put Rose face down over his knee and was immediately struck by how different it felt from having Sherlock in that same position. It wasn’t just the size difference between the two, or the age difference, but yet it felt like a very distinct sentiment. Perhaps because Sherlock was merely his brother while Rose, for all intents and purposes, was _his_ little girl. His to raise, cherish, care for and teach, and teach her he would.

Rose started to cry, far more anxious at this new experience than anything else. Her tears went up in volume as Mycroft steeled his resolve and flipped up her denim skirt and then bared her bottom. “It is _very_ , _very_ important to stay safe Rose and make _safe choices_.” The emphasized words of his impromptu lecture were accompanied by firm swats.

“Ow! Owie My, ow!” Rose cried out. “I’ll be good!” Her little hands grabbed on to the leg of his trousers.

Mindful of her size and her obvious distress at this new form of an already disliked punishment, Mycroft set the total number of swats at twelve and despite her tears he proceeded to apply the eight remaining swats, tempering the strength behind them significantly. He struggled far more than he’d anticipated to block the sound of her crying, but Rose’s tears made it clear that she was getting the message. By the time he finished, Mycroft had a very upset little girl with a sore, red bum over his lap. He felt like an absolute brute, but didn’t regret his decision to make this lesson a particularly memorable one, and lessen the chances she’d ever use the roof or balcony for further flying experiments.

“If you ever climb up on that railing again for any reason whatsoever, I will ground you until you’re twenty and spank you every single day in perpetuity,” Mycroft threatened as he picked Rose up and cuddled the crying five-year-old to his chest. “Promise me that you will never, ever do that again Rose.”

“Promise! I’m sorry, I’m sorry My! Ow, ow, ow!” The little girl sobbed. It was truly the most tragic day in her whole entire life. Not only was she not Mary Poppins and could not fly, but now she’d had a very big spanking! She scrunched up the material of Mycroft’s shirt in her hands and pressed her face against his chest.

“I know poppet, I know you are,” Mycroft replied in a soft tone. Now that the smacking was done it was time for soothing, a task he’d become surprisingly well equipped for since Rose’s arrival in the world. “I know poppet. You’re a very good girl,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Should we rock a bit? I think we should rock a bit. I love you very much Rose and I just want you safe, always.”

Righting her clothing once more and cradling her in his arms, Mycroft carried her to the rocking chair in her bedroom and sat down, immediately cuddling her even tighter to his chest. While one arm held onto her securely, he began to gently rub her red bum. Despite knowing the spanking had been well earned, completely appropriate for the situation, Mycroft still felt like a brute.

“Shh, shhh,” he murmured. “Cry it all out poppet. You’ll be alright, I promise. I love you, do you know that? I love you very, very much, even when you do very ridiculous things,” he soothed, the words for her ears and her ears alone. “You’re my good, brave girl poppet.” He kept up a soothing litany of praise and reminders that he loved her, spoken in a gentle tone. Combining the soothing, soft tone, and rocking, Rose was soon fast asleep in his arms.

Resting his cheek on top of her curly head, Mycroft closed his eyes and continued to hold her, unwilling to put her down just yet. He had come so close to losing her today and the terror he’d felt had taken him by surprise. Mycroft had always loved her but today had taught him just how deep that love was. In that brief span of time between seeing her fall and rushing outside to find her lying on the ground in tears, he realized that the world would be a much darker place and hardly worth saving without her in it.

For this little girl, Mycroft realized, he would do anything and everything. He would only have one chance to raise her, one chance to be the best replacement for their father that he could be, and vowed silently in that moment to always do his very best for her. He might fail sometimes, but he was going to give it all he had and Mycroft hoped more than anything that it would be enough.

 

 


	21. Panic at the Bookstore

It was ten days before Christmas and somehow Mother had convinced him to take her Christmas shopping. That, Sherlock realized, was a huge mistake. Every store and shopping center in London was swimming with people to the point that he was distinctly uncomfortable with the size of the crowd let alone the constant bombardment of observations going on in his head.

“Sherlock, are you ok?” Rose asked, tugging on his coat sleeve. Her eighth birthday was just five days away and between the excitement of that and Christmas, she was a bundle of energy and giddiness to the point of being exhausting for those around her.

“I’m fine. Headache,” he quickly answered, giving her a small smile. “Let’s try to do our shopping quickly so we can leave. Stay close to me Rose, don’t wander off.” It would be all too easy for her to get lost in the masses of bustling people.

The little girl gave him a smile and slipped her hand in his. “Okay. I have a list of everything I want to get everyone!” She dug in her jeans pocket for a moment before pulling out a list and handing it to Sherlock. “We need to go to all the places to get those and then we’ll be all done!”

Sherlock examined the list and praised Rose for her good handwriting, smiling as the little girl preened. “We’d best get on with it then. Bookstore first?”

“Please! I want to try and find Mycroft and Mummy some very nice books for Christmas. Can you help me with that? I think you know what Mycroft wants to read better than me. He likes very smart books,” Rose explained, swinging their arms as they held hands.

“He does enjoy his smart books,” her big brother concurred, absentmindedly swinging his arm along with hers. “Typically they’re books you would find very, very boring.”

“I liked the book about the musketeers,” Rose contradicted, referencing the Alexandre Dumas novel. “But lots of his other books do look boring. Except the ones in the glass case in his study, those look very interesting!”

Sherlock chuckled. “They only look interesting because he won’t let you touch them. If you value your life, I suggest you don’t make an attempt to get your hands on them. He might love you, but I think he loves his first editions more!”

Rose gasped and looked up at him with wide, bright blue eyes. “Does he really? More than me?”

“Well, probably not,” Sherlock admitted. “But let’s not test the waters to find out, hm?” He gave her a wink that earned him a bright smile in response.

“Good idea. You’re so smart Sherlock. I hope I’m just as smart as you when I get grown,” the little girl said adoringly.

“Maybe you’ll be smarter than I am. What do you think of that?” He chuckled as she continued to swing their arms.

“Inconceivable!” Rose declared.

“Someone’s been watching _Princess Bride_ again,” Sherlock teased, smiling as Rose giggled. “Now, do you remember our shopping rules that we talked about this morning?”

Rose nodded. “Hold your hand because there’s big crowds and if we aren’t holding hands to stay close,” she repeated dutifully.

“Good girl,” Sherlock praised. The pair disappeared within the crowd at the bookstore, spending about forty minutes combing every topic and shelf the store had to offer. The majority of the time, they held hands but when Sherlock or Rose wanted to examine a book further they stopped in order to use both hands.

“I think this would be a good selection for Mycroft,” Sherlock commented, holding the book out for Rose to take and examine… Only she didn’t. Sherlock frowned and looked down to find Rose was not beside him. He quickly scanned the aisle and Rose was not anywhere in that row.

In fact, he couldn’t see Rose anywhere nearby. Sherlock’s heart began beating wildly as panic set in. Had she simply wandered away? Had she been abducted? How many men in this store were potential pedophiles or sadists who would welcome the opportunity to abscond with a helpless victim to the nearest dark, camera free area of the store? His mind raced with the possibilities of harm that could come to her, going into overload as he scanned and deduced every individual near him while trying to spot Rose among the large crowd.

“Rose? Rose? Rose where did you go?” he began calling out. Their shopping basket was left in the row as Sherlock moved out of it and began going frantically up and down each aisle, peering around the masses of people to look for his sister. He’d never felt so terrified in his life, or known how very much he truly loved her until this moment when he couldn’t find her.

“Sir, can I help you?” A young woman asked. Her name tag indentified her as Julie, a store employee. “Have you lost someone?”

“Yes, my sister, Rose. I’m not sure if she wandered off or was taken, but I can’t find her and I need to find her,” Sherlock told her in a rush, feeling his chest tighten as he said the words aloud.

“Then you definitely need my help. Stay right here with me, I’m going to have the store locked down,” Julie told him. She reached for a walkie talkie attached to her belt and pressed the button saying, “Code Adam, we have a Code Adam, stand by for description.” **

Sherlock had no idea what a Code Adam was, but suddenly he could see store employees _everywhere_ , as if they were coming out of the woodwork, hurrying across the store to secure any exits and prevent anyone in the store from leaving.

“Can you describe her to me?” the employee asked. “How old is she? Hair and eye color, what clothing she’s wearing? I also need her name and yours.”

“She’s nearly eight, but quite small for her age. Shoulder length dark curly hair, blue eyes, she’s wearing jeans and a gray long-sleeved jumper with daisies on it. Her name is Rose, I’m Sherlock, last name Holmes.”

Julie relayed the description to the other employees and within a minute an announcement was made over the loudspeaker alerting customers that there was a missing child and her description.

The child in question looked up from her book with a frown when she heard her name on the loud speaker. _She_ was Rose Holmes!

“Is that you?” one of the other children she was with asked, having noticed Rose’s surprised look. “You’re not missing, you’re right here.”

“I think I’ve been gone longer than I thought,” Rose admitted. Sherlock must be looking for her. If only she hadn’t got so involved in discussing this new book series with some other children!

Just then a store employee bustled over to their small group. “Are you Rose Holmes?” the young man asked kindly. “Your brother is looking for you. Let’s go meet him at the service counter, alright? I’m Kevin,” the employee added. “Let me tell everyone I found you.” Via walkie talkie, Kevin alerted the other employees that the missing child had been found and was on her way to the service counter to meet her family.

Rose quietly followed Kevin to the front of the store where Sherlock was waiting for her. His face was pale and lined with worry and when Sherlock saw her, he went running towards her. He dropped to his knees in front of her and wrapped his arms tightly around her, almost crushing her to his chest. For the first time in what felt like hours, he was able to breathe, relief washing over him.

As store employees returned to their posts and patrons were allowed to come and go once again, Sherlock just held Rose in his arms, periodically pressing kisses on top of her head. “I was so scared Rose,” he whispered in her ear. “So scared that I’d lost you or something bad had happened to you.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose whispered. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, trying her best to make him feel better. “I’m okay Sherlock, promise. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

“No, it’s—You _what_?!” Sherlock exclaimed as her words fully registered. He removed her arms from around his neck and put her at arms length. “You didn’t mean to be gone so long? You _deliberately_ walked away from me all on your own?” Considering that she’d been found unharmed, Sherlock had assumed she’d lost sight of him in the crowd, which wouldn’t really have been her fault.

Rose looked down at her sneakers, her face growing red. “Um… well… maybe?”

Sherlock tipped her chin up so he could look her in the eye. “I think you’d better explain yourself Rosenwyn.”

The little girl gulped and began shuffling her feet. “Well, you were looking at that book and I saw a display that was cool so I went to go look at it and it was for a book series that’s brand new. It sounds so good Sherlock! Then there were other kids that came and we grabbed some books and went to sit down in the chairs in the children’s section and we were reading together. Then I heard my name being called and I didn’t know I’d been gone so long. I was only going to be gone five minutes, I swear. Then I was going to come right back before you even missed me.”

His jaw dropped. “Five minutes? You were only going to be gone _five_ minutes?” Sherlock almost couldn’t believe what she’d said, but he could tell she was being truthful. Standing up, he turned her to the side and swatted her bum hard three times before turning her to face him once again. He paused for a few seconds, rather surprised he’d done that. Seeing the shocked look on Rose’s face, Sherlock wasn’t certain which of them was more surprised by the impromptu swatting. Well, it was best to start as one meant to go on and this was definitely something he could just let go without consequences.

“You were _not_ supposed to be gone for _any_ minutes!” Sherlock shouted. “I thought you were a big enough girl to stay by my side even when I didn’t hold your hand! Didn’t we talk about that before we came today? Do you have any idea how afraid for you I was? What could have happened to you?” It was obvious that none of these issues had been duly considered before she decided to just walk away without saying a word to him.

“We are done shopping, absolutely done for today. We’ll order gifts online, but for now, we’re going home and you are in very serious trouble Rosenwyn,” Sherlock stated. Mycroft was going to have an absolute fit when he heard about this and Sherlock knew his little sister was going to be in serious trouble with their big brother. At least _he_ wouldn’t have to deal with it though! He took her hand, holding onto it firmly.

“Don’t you dare let go of my hand until I tell you, do you understand?” Sherlock tugged on her hand and was about to try and make his way through the crowd when something Rose said made him stop in his tracks.

“Yes, sir,” Rose had said quietly before beginning to bite on her lower lip.

Sherlock took a deep breath and squeezed her hand a bit. “Don’t do that,” he told her in a gentle tone.

“Don’t do what?” the little girl asked, wondering what she’d managed to do in the past minute. She didn’t bother to look up at him, even though she could feel him looking at her.

“”Yes sir” me.” Sherlock had heard her say that before to Mycroft, not on a regular basis, but always when she knew she’d been particularly naughty and Mycroft was especially angry. “You don’t have to do that, Rose. In fact, I’d prefer you didn’t.” That wasn’t the way he wanted Rose to see him or color their relationship. Mycroft was Mycroft and a ‘yes, sir’ could go a long way when one was in trouble with the eldest Holmes, but Sherlock didn’t want to demand that from her.

It was a good indication, however, that she was upset he’d shouted at her and Sherlock immediately felt bad for losing his temper with her.“Come here,” he murmured, picking Rose up. She may have been nearly eight but she was the size of a six year old on the smaller end of the average six year old’s height scale, a good six inches shorter than most her age. This made it very easy to carry her around, which Sherlock admittedly liked to do, particularly when Rose was upset as she was just then. A part of him hoped she’d always stay on the smaller side so he could always carry her around

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Rose said sincerely as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I just didn’t really think about it very well. Lack of forethought,” she murmured. “I saw and I went.”

Sherlock kissed her cheek. “I know Rosie. I’m sorry I lost my temper and shouted at you. Forgive me?”

Rose nodded, giving him a little smile. “Of course! And you forgive me too, right?”

“I do. You’re still going to be in trouble though when we get home,” he warned.

“Do we have to tell Mycroft?” She gave him a spectacular pout, hoping to dissuade him. When that had little effect, she tried sad puppy eyes.

“Please don’t give me that look,” Sherlock asked quietly. “Yes, we do have to tell Mycroft, so he can be the mean brother and handle it.”

The little girl sighed dramatically. “I suppose. Can we bake biscuits later? Please? And will you help me buy presents online and get them shipped very speedily so they come in time for Christmas?”

“Yes to both,” he easily agreed. “Those are precisely the duties of the fun brother.” Sherlock winked at Rose and smiled when she giggled.

\------------------------------------------------------

“I don’t think My is home,” Rose commented when they arrived at the Holmes residence.

Sherlock suspected she was right about Mycroft, considering there was no sign of his car and the house felt silent and empty. This was an unfortunate turn of events, meaning that he would have to be the mean brother and deal with Rose’s wandering off at the bookstore, rather than turn her over to Mycroft and just cuddle her later, commiserating about how mean and nasty their big brother was. How very like Mycroft to be so conveniently missing. Yes, he’d have to handle it all on his own, because there was no way in the world he was letting Rose get away with her wandering off like that. She was too old to purposely do that and he’d have to make that point clear to her.

Rose stood there by his side watching him, Sherlock’s clear indecision making her feel anxious. Things were very cut and dry with Mycroft when she got in trouble. In fact, her eldest brother practically had a pattern and the consistency of it was, to a certain extent, reassuring.

Having, finally decided on a plan of action, Sherlock took her hand and sat down on the couch, standing Rose in front of him. “What you did today was unacceptable Rose and we need to have a discussion about,” he began, looking directly in her eyes.

Her eyes widened. “You mean we’re just going to talk? You’re the coolest brother _ever_!” Rose decided, throwing her arms around him.

Sherlock gently pried her hands off of him and held her at arm’s length once more. “No. Well, yes,” he amended. “We’re going to discuss things verbally and then I’m going to spank you, which, I suppose, is another form of discussion, just not a verbal one.”

The little girl in front of him instantly looked deflated. “Then I’m sorry to say you’re no longer the coolest brother that ever lived in the world,” Rose said softly.

“I understand,” Sherlock said quietly. Even if he wasn’t the _coolest_ brother he was still the _fun_ brother; most of the time anyway. “What I _don’t_ understand is what you did today at the bookstore. You clearly didn’t forget the rules,” he pointed out, recalling her explanation at the bookstore. “Why didn’t you just tell me that you wanted to look at something? That would be a much better choice than deliberately wandering away.”

“I didn’t think about it like that,” Rose admitted, struggling to keep her head up to look at him. “About it not being safe, or that you’d be scared. You were looking at something and I didn’t want to interrupt you, so I thought I’d just be really quick.”

“But that wasn’t the rules we agreed on when we left this morning was it?” Sherlock asked, his tone uncompromising but gentle. When she shook her head no, he continued. “That wasn’t very safe, either, was it? Someone could have taken you Rose; kidnapped you. Or you might’ve got lost or even hurt, because the store was very crowded today. Did you think about those things?”

Rose began sniffling, her lower lip wobbling, indicating there would be tears sooner rather than later. Slowly she shook her head, acknowledging she hadn’t thought about potential dangers at all. Instead, she’d been much too wrapped up in taking a look at the new book series to worry about anything else.

“You have to think of those things Rose. It’s very important. Not to mention how scared I was when I couldn’t find you! I thought maybe you were taken, or lost or hurt or maybe _you_ were scared because we’d been separated and you couldn’t find me. I was _very_ worried Rosenwyn and that’s not okay.” Sherlock wasn’t immune to her sad eyes, sniffles and wobbly little lip, as much as he wished he could be just then. He knew this was a completely appropriate response to her choices at the bookstore, but that didn’t mean it was easy to steel his resolve and spank her, despite how sad she looked. This just wasn’t something he could let go, no matter how much he’d like to.

“Do you understand everything I’ve said? Why you’re getting spanked?” Sherlock asked, wanting to be sure. He was relieved when she nodded in the affirmative and he nodded as well. “Right then. Jeans down and then over my lap, Rose.”

Her hands went to the button on the front of her jeans before she paused and looked up at him. “Do we have to?” Rose asked in a tiny little voice.

Sherlock knew it was her final effort to get a reprieve; if she was really going to fight him about it, she’d already have done so. He took a deep breath to steel his nerves and nodded curtly. “We do. Safety is non-negotiable,” he told her, echoing a phrase their mother had used more times than he could count. He had no doubt that Mother would be rather amused when she heard about this later. The son she’d often thought had very little regard for his own life at all, was now using on the Rose the same catch phrase she’d used on him.

Convinced that she would get no reprieve, Rose unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans before pushing them down to her thighs and leaning over Sherlock’s lap. She made a little whining noise when Sherlock pulled her jeans down even further and then puller her pants down as well.

One arm wrapped around her waist to keep her close, Sherlock raised his right hand and brought it down with a sharp _smack_ across the center of her bottom. He cringed when Rose yelped, then forced himself not to think about it as he found his rhythm. Right cheek, then left, back and forth his hand consistently found its small target over his lap, much to Rose’s growing distress.

“Ow! Ow, too hard!” the little girl cried out after the first several swats. “Sherlock! Owww!” Had Rose had any thoughts of staying still or quiet for her spanking, they would’ve been out the window within the first dozen smacks. Sherlock spanked at a steady pace, his hand stinging her tender cheeks and making them feel hotter than Rose was comfortable with. Though he didn’t spank her all that often, Rose knew he could do a very good job of it if he wanted to and today, he clearly wanted to.

Sherlock watched the color rise on Rose’s bottom, first a light pink then slightly duskier pink and still he wasn’t finished. “You cannot wander away on your own Rose, it isn’t safe,” he stated, landing a few hearty swats to her sit spots. He winced in sympathy as she yelped and threw her hand back.

“Nonononono! Oww- _wuh_!” Rose pleaded. “No more, I’ll be good, I’ll be good!”

“I know,” Sherlock assured her as he took her hand and held it against her side. “I know you will be, but we’re not finished just yet.” Mother always spanked until she knew her child had learned a good lesson, as if somehow there was a magic threshold to reach and once it was, the spanker would know to stop. Sherlock knew that there was no magic threshold, but instinctively he’d know when it was the right time to stop and that time was not just yet.

Raising his hand just a bit higher he swatted the crest of her right cheek and made his way down to her cheek to the tender sit spot and oh-so-sensitive upper thigh. Once he reached the upper thigh he applied a few hearty swats there before working his way back up. Sherlock found he needed to hold on to Rose tighter as she began squirming, twisting, kicking and doing just about anything she could think of to move her bottom out of the line of fire. As he finished her right cheek and moved to the left to follow the same pattern, he heard Rose begin to cry softly.

“Sorry, sorry Sherlock, sorry!” Rose pleaded, throwing a vast amount of energy into wriggling that proved wholly ineffective. His hand fell just where he wanted it to each time, much to her growing displease. Her bum was burning up and so very sore and he just kept _going_!

Once the left cheek was finished up Sherlock knew they were close to being done and was quite relieved, though definitely not as relieved as Rose would be when the spanking ended. His hand went back and forth, peppering her sit spots and upper thighs until Sherlock heard a cry that fractured into a genuine sob. As soon as he heard it, the spanking stopped. “All done Rose, it’s all done,” Sherlock assured her while gently rubbing circles on her back. “All over now and you were very brave. You’re a very good girl,” he praised. His words did little to soothe her, it seemed, but Sherlock kept up a litany of comforting phrases just the same.

Unbeknownst to either of his siblings, Mycroft had arrived home just a few moments prior. Upon entering the house he’d immediately heard the sounds of a spanking and looked into the sitting room to see Sherlock disciplining their sister. He was quite effective, the oldest Holmes had to admit, and Mycroft was more than a little surprised that Sherlock had taken Rose in hand on his own, rather than wait for him to come home. Sherlock had a bad habit of passing anything and everything of an unpleasant nature his way, in order to remain the ‘fun’ brother.

Still unaware of Mycroft’s presence, Sherlock pulled Rose’s pants back up and helped her onto her feet, intending to help with her jeans as well. Suddenly, Rose pulled out of his grip and tripped right out of her jeans as she ran across the room…

…and right into Mycroft’s arms. The two brothers shared a rather alarmed look as Mycroft picked up his sobbing sister and hugged her tightly. Rose _never_ ran to him. If anything, she was more likely to run _away_ from him and seek extra sympathy from Sherlock when she felt Mycroft had been particularly ‘mean.’

Shrugging a bit at Sherlock, the eldest Holmes went far enough into the sitting room to pick up Rose’s discarded jeans before carrying her into his study. “Good heavens, it can’t possibly be as bad as all that poppet,” Mycroft murmured in a gentle tone. He crossed the room and sat down in his desk chair, carefully settling Rose in his lap while he continued to hold her tight. The little girl immediately responded by pressing her face against his chest while one fist scrunched up his waistcoat.

“I have no idea what you did poppet, but I do know that Sherlock wouldn’t spank you without cause,” Mycroft pointed out as he began rubbing her back. “Sherlock loves you very much, I know he does, and you know that too. I know it hurts right now, but you’ll be alright. Sherlock loves you and I love you too. Cry it all out now,” he soothed. “I’m sure you were a very good, brave girl for Sherlock and that makes me very proud.”

Mycroft kept up a steady rhythm of comforting back rubbing and soothing words until finally Rose managed to calm down, only to fall asleep in his arms. That was very typical of his poppet: get a spanking, have an epic cry over it until she was exhausted, and then promptly fall asleep. When he was certain she would stay sleeping, Mycroft carried her upstairs into her room and tucked her into bed.

\----------------------------------------------------

To say Sherlock had been stunned that Rose ran to Mycroft rather than have a cuddle with him would be an understatement. He tried not to take her actions too seriously, or too personally, but it stung nonetheless. Never before had she turned down any sort of affection from him, not even the times he’d spanked her before today. Had he been too hard on her? Spanked too hard, or too much? Was it because he shouted at her? Sherlock knew he shouldn’t have shouted at her and he was forever telling Mycroft off for doing that exact thing.

“Don’t take it personally Sherlock,” Mycroft commented when he joined his brother in the sitting room after tucking Rose into bed. “I think she was far more upset at how stern you were with her than actually upset with _you_.”

“I’m surprised you’re not gloating,” Sherlock grumbled. “Oh look, Rose likes me best now, ha ha to you Sherlock.”

“Unlike you, brother mine, I’m far less concerned about this little popularity contest you seem to believe we’re involved in. But for what it’s worth, I recommend you not let this bother you, because what happens in a moment of tearful upset is not indicative of her overall opinion of you,” Mycroft advised.

\------------------------------------------------

A few hours later there was a loud insistent knocking on Sherlock’s bedroom door. Well, no, not knocking. It sounded as if someone was _kicking_ his door. Setting aside his violin he got up to answer the continued kick-knocks and was completely unsurprised to find Rose on the other side of the door.

“Is there a reason you’re kicking my door?” he asked, chuckling as she blushed.

“Yes, as you can see, my hands are very full,” Rose explained, indicating the tray she was holding. “It’s for you.”

“For me?” Sherlock echoed. He took the tray from her and set it on the desk in his room.

Rose nodded. “I made you ice cream to say sorry,” she said softly.

“You made me ice cream from scratch?” Sherlock asked, lifting the lid on the tray.

“No, I scooped it out of the carton. But I did all the scooping and put on all the toppings and brought it up.”

Sherlock smiled. “I see there’s two bowls here. Are you going to join me?”

“Yes please!” Grabbing her own bowl from the tray, Rose helped herself to his bed. She lounged back against the pillows and began eating her treat, flashing her brother a smile when he did the same.

“I’m sorry I was naughty and scared you Sherlock,” she said quietly. Rose watched him earnestly, hoping he would say he forgave her..

She wasn’t disappointed as Sherlock immediately responded with, “I know, and I forgive you.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, more than a little relieved that they were back to normal, despite her preference for Mycroft just hours ago.

“Ew, sticky, ew!” Rose squealed, squirming away from him.

“Ew? _Ew_? I’m mortally wounded! I shall avenge myself!” Sherlock quickly grabbed their bowls and putting them on the nightstand by the bed. He then playfully tackled Rose, giving her sticky kisses on her cheeks and intermittent tummy tickles that had her shouting and squealing with laughter.

Downstairs in the library, Mycroft could hear their laughter, and Rose’s delighted squeals and feigned calls for rescue and smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Code Adam isn’t randomly chosen, I was at a Barnes and Noble one time and this happened, the code name, locking down the store, employees coming out of every place looking for a missing little boy! It was quite a sight!


	22. Child of Mine Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a one-shot but became monster sized, so here is part 1 of 2.

There were many things in life that annoyed Mycroft Holmes. In fact, there were far too many things to even organize into a list. There were, however, a few that seemed to stand out among the multitude of annoyances found in this world; in particular, people and their assumptions drove Mycroft utterly insane. The most frequent, and perhaps most annoying assumption that people made, was that he was Rose’s father rather than her brother.

One could potentially understand the confusion as one did not often find siblings with a twenty-two-year gap between the oldest and youngest outside of hideously large families of twelve or more children. People in the States somehow found those families amusing, interesting, and entertaining, giving them shows on the telly. Mycroft found even the mere _thought_ of a family that large horrifying, though that might be in large part due to the fact that he had no real experience with children outside of his own siblings and the world wouldn’t survive an entire 24 hours if there were twelve children like Sherlock and Rose in it. Clearly those families whose shows he’d seen advertisements for did not have children like his siblings; otherwise they would never have continued to procreate. Even now he’d still trade Sherlock for a dog; Rose he’d invested too much time in to trade for even the very best of dogs, not even one that came with a hunting lodge.

Even though there was a significant gap in their ages, as far as Mycroft was concerned, that was no reason to assume he was Rose’s father then look at him with general alarm when he did not lay claim to the parentage of his rambunctious sister and then gape at him or ask awkward questions. This was, unfortunately, a process that had occurred on a fairly regular basis since the very beginning. Multiple examples of it were easily called to mind, such as time he’d taken Rose to the park in her pram for the umpteenth time…

_Mycroft was utterly exhausted, and if he was exhausted, he could only imagine how run down his poor mother actually was. Oh, Maud Holmes put on a brave face and tutted  at him when he suggested she go to bed and allow him to look after Rose, or turned down his offer to deal with Sherlock’s latest misbehavior, and soldiered on because that is what a mother does. At least, that had been the case until Mother had come down with the flu, leaving her two sons to care for six-month-old Rose in order to keep the baby from getting sick._

_It had only been three days and he could not for the life of him understand why people had children. Well, maybe he could; like when Rose smiled at him or cuddled against him and he felt like his heart- one he hadn’t realized he’d actually had- melted. Right now, however, Mycroft couldn’t imagine why anyone ever had children. At that moment he was taking Rose for the fourth walk that day, his sister tucked securely into her pram, apparently unable to sleep properly today without a walk first._

_“Come on baby, you need to sleep,” Mycroft pleaded. It was 6pm and he was trying so very, very desperately to get her to fall asleep so that he could get some work done and maybe even sleep himself tonight. Rose was not in a cooperative mood just then. In fact, she was wailing and flailing her little fists, her face all red and scrunched up with displeasure._

_Suddenly he heard a feminine voice from behind them that seemed to be moving closer. “Aww, poor little thing,” the woman cooed at Rose as she fell into step beside Mycroft. “Your daddy looks so tired little one, you should sleep so Daddy can too.” Rose stopped crying, looking up at the new face and voice before letting out a little coo._

_“How old? Lillian, by the way,” the woman introduced herself. She’d never been able to resist a man with a baby._

_“Six months,” Mycroft responded. “And I’m not her father. I’m twenty-two, which is a ridiculous age to begin reproducing.”_

_“Not her father?” Lillian repeated. “But… she belongs to you, somehow, right?” He didn’t look like a kidnapper, but who knew these days._

_“No, she doesn’t.” Mycroft’s eyes widened as he realized the mistake he’d just made. “She’s my sister.”_

_Lillian didn’t look convinced but was undecided about whether to call the police now or back off a bit first. In the end she chose not to call them at all as Mycroft was recognized by one of the neighborhood women who called a greeting, inquired about his mother, and promised to bring soup the following day._

Then there was that time at the surgery….

_Two-year-old Rose was clinging to Mycroft like a vine to the side of an unkempt house, her face flush with fever, her hand tugging once more at her left ear._

_“Rose, I know your ear hurts, but pulling on it won’t make it better,” he murmured, gently moving her hand away from her ear. “We’ll be in to see the doctor soon and get something so you feel better. My poor little poppet.” Mycroft kissed the top of her head and gently rubbed circles on her back as they approached the check-in. “Rosenwyn Holmes, we have an appointment with Dr. Hathaway,” he said to the receptionist._

_“Aw, Daddy cuddles are the best cuddles when you don’t feel good, aren’t they lovey?” the receptionist asked, smiling at the sick toddler._

_Mycroft sighed heavily and rolled his eyes; here they went again! “She’s not my child, she’s…”_

_“Then what are you doing with her if she’s not your child?” The receptionist interrupted, looking well and truly puzzled. Not alarmed, not yet anyway, just puzzled._

_“Is there some sort of unspoken rule I don’t know about, that only allows fathers and mothers to bring sick children in? I’m her eldest brother and, if you bothered to check your paperwork, also her legal guardian, invested with all the legal authority one could ever need to authorize any sort of care she should ever require while on this earth,” Mycroft ground out. “Authority granted by our mother, who just happens to be at a conference in Macedonia at this very moment, though I fail to see how that is really any of your concern. Now are we going to continue to play twenty questions or are you going to get us in to a see the doctor sometime this century?” Had he not been holding a sensitive and ill little girl, his words would have been accompanied by considerable shouting._

_Though he was only twenty-four, Mycroft had the uncanny ability to unsettle and intimidate anyone and everyone, with or without bellowing. Well, not the Queen, but she was the **Queen** after all! Anyone else, even people twice his age, snapped to attention and followed his instructions to the letter; just like the receptionist that was now hurrying back to speak with other personnel._

_“That’s the brother. Mr. Holmes is the brother and he’s going to be very, very angry if you mistake him for Mr. Holmes the dad,” she warned the nurse. “Be sure to tell the doctor, alright? No, stop laughing at me!”_

_The nurse snickered at her colleague. “He’s the same age as you, holding a sick toddler, how upsetting can he really be? Pull yourself together Jill!”_

_“Well he was. Just… like the most intense vibes ever coming off that guy,” the receptionist hissed. “You do what you like, but I warned you, Sue, I warned you!”_

_“Right this way with your charge Brother Holmes!” Nurse Sue called cheerfully, waving Mycroft over. “I’ll take you back to the doctor now.” Exactly three minutes later, Sue left for the loo in tears, while Jill just shook her head._

There were literally dozens, even hundreds, of times over the years that Mycroft had found it necessary to correct people or, more often than not, answer tersely that Rose did not belong to him. Generally that statement was followed by a look of confusion on the face of the other party. Rose would then respond by stretching out his name in a whine of _“Myyyyyyyyyyy!”_ as if he was doing something wrong when most often it was Rose being returned to him after committing some sort of mischief.

Yet never in his infinite wisdom did he think that one day his reflex answer to the question of “Does this child belong to you?” would result in the events of today. As he recalled prior issues of claiming or not claiming Rose, he wondered how precisely he had missed this as within the realm of possibilities. ‘This’ being that he was, at that very moment, handcuffed and waiting with growing impatience for his turn at a battered old phone, pondering which of the possible methods of murdering someone he’d enjoy most.

Finally it was Mycroft’s turn and he took the phone, struggling a bit with the awkwardness of being handcuffed and dialing said phone. He waited, becoming angrier by the second, as the line rang and rang until finally someone answered at the other end.

“Mother, _your child_ had me arrested,” Mycroft ground out, sounding ready to snap.

\---------------------------------------------------

_Three Hours Before the Call_

If he hadn’t seen it for himself, Mycroft would never believe it. Rosenwyn Holmes, the girl who jumped off balconies, watched in fascination as her blood was drawn at surgery, and tried to drive the bloody car when she was six and a half, was absolutely terrified…

…Of the dentist.

And also was currently in the middle of gigantic strop about having to go see the dreaded dentist. Generally Mycroft was quick to deal with tantrums, but this one was clearly caused by genuine fear; not to mention the fact that she’d crawled under her bed and would not come out no matter what he threatened to do to her if she didn’t.

“Rose, this is getting to be a bit ridiculous. You’ve been to the dentist many, many times and never have you been this upset about it,” Mycroft pointed out. This was probably the most awkward conversation he’d ever had, lying on his stomach looking under the bed at a very upset eight-year-old.

“But he went away! My dentist went away and this one might make it hurt very, very much!” Rose wailed. Every time Mycroft reached out to try and grab her, she’d kick at him and continue to cry. “He’s going to use the old tools like we saw at the museum and you can’t tell me he won’t because you don’t know him either, he’s new and he could be the most horrible dentist ever in all the whole world!”

“That’s not even grammatically correct,” Mycroft ground out. “Will you please just come out from there? I am very tired of having this conversation on the floor and getting kicked at. And if you weren’t so frightened, for no good reason I might add, you’d have a very sore bottom coming your way for all this nonsense. Will you _please_ come out? _Please_.”

“NO!”

“If you come out and stop your crying, I promise I’ll get you a treat after we go to the dentist. I’ll stay in the room with you, you can bring Teddy to hold, and I’ll make certain you’re alright. Afterwards, if you’re a good girl, I’ll take you to the store for a treat,” Mycroft promised. The fact that he was offering a bribe indicated that he was very, very desperate indeed.

“You promise? Promise everything will be okay? You’ll protect me?” Rose asked, her shouting dying down to sniffles and trailing tears.

“Of course,” Mycroft answered immediately. “I also don’t think that your dentist that retired would let someone who wasn’t good take his place. But I’ll be there either way. Come on out.” He moved away from the bed, giving her space to crawl out from under it. Once she did, he hugged her tightly, still baffled by her fear, history museum visit aside. Those instruments had been over one hundred years old, after all! Who exactly did she think this new dentist might be?

“I want something new for my baby,” Rose murmured. “When we go to the store.”

“So not ice cream then?”

Rose shook her head. “We have ice cream here. Constanza would like something nice for herself and she’s been a very good baby.”

Mycroft sighed heavily. He _knew_ he should have specified the store and/or treat. There would be no going back on it now, even if Rose practically had her own toy store in the playroom. “Well then you’ll just have to be the very best little girl you can be for me, hm? Be good and brave, like I know you can be.”

_Ninety Minutes Before the Call_

They’d been here forever, Mycroft thought to himself. How long did it take one to pick out paraphernalia for a doll, for god sakes? He let Rose wander and examine and mostly wandered the aisles himself, not particularly interested in looking at doll dresses or yet more dress up clothes. He didn’t miss the odd looks from various store workers, as even Mycroft would admit he must look incredibly out of place in this store, particularly since Rose was not at his side.

It had been foolish for Mycroft to leave Rose unattended. She was eight, the store was practically empty, and he could keep an eye on her well enough while staying far away from the offensively pink aisles.

Or so he’d thought.

“Rose, have you picked something out yet? We’ve been here thirty minutes already and I have better things to do today,” Mycroft grumbled as he entered the row where he’d left her. Rose, however, was not there. In fact, she was across the store, playing in the display bouncy house, much to the chagrin of store employees.

“Can I help you with something, sir?” A young female store employee asked. “Trying to buy a present for a little girl? It can be very daunting.” She smiled. “Did you have anything particular in mind, sir?”

Unwilling to admit he couldn’t at the precise moment in time find Rose, Mycroft merely gave the girl a tight smile. “While I appreciate your kind offer, I’m merely browsing with no actual intention of purchasing anything in particular.”

“Um… Well, alright then,” she said. “My name is Jane, if you decide you’d like some help.” Giving the man one last smile, she scurried away to another part of the store.

“Guys, there’s this super weird dude over in the girl toys, doll aisles,” Jane told her fellow employees. “He’s in this freaking expensive suit and alone and it’s weird. He didn’t want any help when I offered.”

As the employees discussed the strange well dressed man seemingly prowling the doll items, Rose was being ushered out of the bouncy house by a male employee. “Come along now, you’ve had enough play time,” the teenage boy named Jason decided. “Come out. We need to find your parents and we don’t really let anyone play in these. It’s just display and there’s legal things if you get hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Rose promised, but exited the bouncy house just the same. Before Jason could escort her to the front to page her parents, the little girl scurried away, returning to the doll aisle. This time, her eyes fell on the exact thing she wanted for her doll. Way up on a high shelf, it was a horse drawn carriage big enough for a doll Constanza’s size. How had she possibly missed that before?! Without stopping to think about finding help from an adult, Rose began scaling the shelves. Luckily for her, the shelves were sturdy enough not to be thrown off by the weight of a small eight-year-old climbing them; unluckily for her, the toys were not secured _to_ the shelves. By the time she reached the horse drawn carriage, there was a considerable number of toys that had fallen to the floor.

By this time, Mycroft had wandered over to the DVD and book section of the store, thinking that Rose may have changed her mind about what she wanted as a reward for being well behaved at the dentist. Thus he missed her return to the doll aisle and her subsequent climb of the shelves, until the sound of objects falling caught his attention.

It couldn’t be.

Then again, it was Rose.

So, yes, it not only could be but it was also very likely to be his sister wreaking havoc once again. And then it came, the question he so very much dreaded, from a young male employee who appeared to be named Jason.

“Sir? We’ve uh… well… there’s a little girl creating a mess over in the doll area. She wouldn’t happen to belong to you, would she?” Jason asked, hopeful he’d found the girl’s parent.

“No,” Mycroft responded. No, he most certainly was not responsible for bringing that utter hoyden into this world, nor was he going to take the credit for doing so. “No, she is most certainly not mine.” Yet despite laying no claim to the child in question, he hastily made his way towards the sounds of chaos, imagining the costs of the possible damage Rose could have inflicted. Clearly, Rose got her destructive tendencies from Sherlock because _he_ had certainly never been a destructive child!

“I think that’s your dad looking for you,” the employee named Jane told Rose as Mycroft could be seen heading in their direction.

Rose looked where Jane was pointing and saw a very angry Mycroft was in fact heading her way, clearly not amused that she was sitting on the floor among a pile of thirty or so toys that had come off the shelves during her climb up and down them.

“That’s not my daddy,” Rose murmured. The words that followed her true statement, however, had not been considered for more than three seconds time before she blurted them out, intending nothing more than to delay the inevitable bottom warming she had coming. “He’s not my daddy, he kidnapped me.”

Jane gasped, immediately taking the child at her word. One always heard about those things on the news and she had just _known_ there was something off about this fancy guy wandering around the store. The little girl must have climbed the shelves to get her attention and find help! “Come with me,” she said firmly, whisking Rose away before the little girl could say anything. Jane waved over the security guard, who had seen everything from his little office in the back of the store. She whispered something in his ear.

“What’s going on?” Rose asked, suddenly feeling rather alarmed.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, we’re going to get you home to your loved ones and that man won’t ever bother you again,” Jane responded, pulling her mobile out of her pocket to dial 999.

\------------------------------------------

Mycroft entered the aisle and watched with confusion as Rose was taken away by a store employee. “Where are they going?” he asked Jason, who had accompanied him back to the aisle.

“I’m not sure,” Jason admitted.

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to come with me,” the security guard said in a stern, authoritative tone.

“Excuse me?’ Mycroft asked, arching an eyebrow.

The guard didn’t ask a second time and, trying to be the hero of the day, promptly tackled Mycroft. A tussle ensued as Mycroft fought to get an upper hand over the security officer and had he not been so caught off guard, Mycroft would easily have won the struggle. Unfortunately for him, the element of surprise- because who in their wildest dreams envisioned being tackled by a security guard while at the toy store with their sibling?- worked in the guard’s favor and Mycroft was dragged to the officer’s office.

Eight minutes later, Mycroft Holmes was in handcuffs and under arrest.

“I’m telling you, I did _not_ kidnap her! She’s my little sister and we’re still allowed to take sisters shopping in this country!” Mycroft shouted as he was shoved into the police vehicle. “Whatever she told the employee was a complete lie. Take a good look at us man, we even look alike!”

“Save it for your trial,” the police officer responded.

\------------------------------------------

_Present_

She simply could not have heard her eldest son correctly, Maud thought to herself. Mycroft? Arrested? “Mikey, this is not funny at all and you’re far too old to be playing these sorts of tricks on your mother.”

“ _Mother_ ,” Mycroft ground out. “ _Your child_ had me arrested for _kidnapping._ This is very, very far from being a joke.”

Maud sighed heavily “Well, Mikey, if you’d just stop answering the question “Does this child belong to you?” with “No” then this might not have happened,” she pointed out.

“Well she didn’t have to tell them I kidnapped her! That’s quite the leap from eldest brother to random stranger abducting her off the bloody street,” Mycroft replied tersely. “She told them I kidnapped her and then didn’t bother to tell them ‘never mind, I was merely kidding’ when I was handcuffed and shoved into a police vehicle. Please, _please_ come down here and sort this out. They won’t listen to me and I have no idea where Rose is, but you’ll likely be getting a call from them asking you to claim her at any moment. Please Mother.”

Maud could hear the strain in her oldest son’s voice and it tugged at her heartstrings. Her baby! Handcuffed! Because of another of her babies! “I’ll be right there Myc,” she promised. “I’ll get to the bottom of this and sort it out as quickly as I can.”

\------------------------------------------------

From the second that police officers had shown up at the toy store, the enormity of what her words had caused slammed into Rose. Immediately she tried to tell not only the store employees but the officers that she hadn’t meant it and My was her My, her brother, not a kidnapper. No one believed her and she couldn’t understand why. Instead, all they kept telling her was not to worry, she was safe and would be home with her family soon.

When she arrived at Scotland Yard with an officer, she was passed off to a different one, who promised to reunite her with her family and again ignored her words. Mycroft was in very real trouble and Rose had put him in it and when he got out of it, Rose knew he was going to kill her. Kill her dead and she knew she’d deserve it. Already the guilt of having caused such a fuss and put her brother into such a serious situation was settled heavy and uncomfortable in her belly.

Then, she saw the one person in the world that could make all of this right. “Mummy!” she shouted, running across the room and threw her arms around her mother, clinging to her.

Maud returned her little one’s hugs with a sigh. “Oh my darling Rose, what have you done?” she asked, sounding disappointed.

“I didn’t know this would happen and I tried to tell them I didn’t mean it and they wouldn’t believe me,” Rose hurriedly explained. “They took Mycroft away and I don’t know where he is and he’s never ever gonna forgive me Mummy. He won’t ever, ever for my whole life.” The little girl burst into distraught tears.

“Of course he will baby, he loves you,” Maud promised, kissing Rose’s face. “I’m sure it goes without saying that you’re in trouble?”

Rose nodded miserably. “I’m sorry Mummy, I’m very sorry!”

“I know baby. We’ll worry about all that later. Be a good girl for Mummy now and wait quietly while I take care of things so we can all go home.”

\--------------------------------------------------

In Maud’s view, convincing the police that Rose’s claim was false took far longer than it should have. Eventually, however, the police came to understand that the littlest Holmes was quite silly and mischievous and never expected such a silly comment to be taken seriously, let alone get her brother arrested. Once they’d realized this was not a true case of kidnapping, Rose got quite the blistering telling off from the officer who had been assigned to watch her; one that left the little girl in tears and prompted heartfelt promises that she would never do something like this ever again.

This scolding was nothing compared to the wrath of her big brother. Mycroft, upon being released, glared at the little girl, his eyes practically boring holes into her. Despite being pleased that he was alright, Rose hesitated briefly before approaching her big brother while he collected his belongings from an officer. Looking rather skittish, she moved towards him cautiously before saying, “My?” in a teeny tiny voice.

Mycroft gave her a final glare before signing the last of the paperwork and stalking out of the building, leaving a stunned Rose in his wake.

“He’s just angry, Rose, and with good reason. Give him some time to cool down,” Maud soothed. She held Rose’s hand and gave it a squeeze, only to feel the little girl slip away and hurry after her brother.

“My! Mycroft! My, wait!” Mycroft hadn’t gone very far, but it was a much longer distance for Rose to cover with her shorter legs than it was for Mycroft. She caught up to him fairly quickly and reached out to tug on his coat to get his attention.

Before she could do so, however, Mycroft whirled around to face her, his face red with anger. “What? What could you _possibly_ have to say to me to make this better?! HOW COULD YOU DO THAT?!” His voice had started off tight and clipped but quickly became louder until he was outright bellowing. Mycroft ignored Rose’s wide eyes and the step she took away from him. Still towering over her, Mycroft leaned down enough to take a firm hold of her shoulders and gave her one good shake before continuing to shout, his hands still on her shoulders. “HOW COULD YOU?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!”

Rose whimpered when Mycroft gave her a firm shake, the color draining from her face. She cringed as he continued to shout at her, tears beginning to streak down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry My, I’m sorry!” she finally shouted to be heard over his bellowing.

“Oh no, you’re not,” Mycroft growled. “Not yet, but you will be; I can promise you that. The second we get home I’m taking a belt to your backside until you aren’t able to sit for an entire _week_. Do you hear me? You are going to be the sorriest little girl in the entire United Kingdom! STOP CRYING AT ONCE!” he ordered, giving her another shake.

At just that moment Maud exited the building, having finally finished signing her own set of forms, and saw Mycroft scream at Rose and give her a shake. “MYCROFT!” She shouted, running in their direction. “MYCROFT HOLMES!”

Hearing his mother’s voice sliced through the veil of red hot anger and Mycroft immediately released his little sister. The little girl was then scooped up by their mother, who was glaring daggers at him. “Get in the car Mycroft,” she ordered tersely before turning all her attention to her littlest.

Rose clung to her mother, sobbing hysterically. Maud could feel her little body trembling and held on to her baby that much tighter. “Shhh, shhhh,” she soothed as Rose tried to apologize through her tears. “It’s alright baby, it’s alright. Mummy’s here, and I love you and Mycroft loves you. He’s angry right now, but there’s no reason to be scared; you know he would never hurt you Rose, ever.” Her heart broke for both her babies just then, knowing Mycroft would be devastated when he realized how much he’d frightened Rose.

“We’re going to go home now baby, alright? Mummy is going to take you and Mycroft home and then you and I are going to talk very calmly about today in your room,” Maud told her daughter. That the talk would include a spanking was a detail that they could worry about later.

Rose shook her head. “Mummy, My said--”

“I don’t care what Mycroft said about it,” Maud interrupted. “Don’t worry about anything Mycroft said. Just you and Mummy will talk. Mycroft loves you darling and he didn’t mean to be so harsh with you. He was very scared by what happened today, just like you were. But we’ll sort it out, I promise baby. Let’s go home now, hmm?” She dabbed at Rose’s tears with a handkerchief before carrying her over to the car.

\---------------------------------------------

The ride back to the Holmes residence was quiet and tense, with not a word spoken until the vehicle pulled into the driveway. “Rose, go upstairs to your room please, I’ll be up shortly,” Maud said quietly. The little girl hurried into the house, leaving the two adults in the car.

“Mycroft, I know you’re angry,” Maud began. “And you have every right to be, but you’re _too_ angry. You’re a good man and a loving brother, but I can see in your eyes that you’re still too angry to deal with her. And that’s alright, you can be angry as long as you wish, but you’ll never forgive yourself if you’re too hard on her. Later on you and Rose can make amends with one another, but for now, I’ll handle Rose.”

Yes, he was angry, yes, he’d made Rose cry, but Mycroft couldn’t help thinking Mother must be exaggerating a bit. Still, he wasn’t going to fight with his mother over who got to spank Rose for her latest misdemeanor. “Of course Mother,” he agreed.

Mycroft followed her inside the house and disappeared into his study, surprised to find his mother right behind him. “Mother?” he asked.

“I believe you’ve got my spanking spoon in that drawer of yours, and I’ll need that,” Maud explained.

“Yes, it has come to find its way in here,” Mycroft admitted, moving to retrieve it from the drawer. It had been quite some time since Mother had spanked anyone in the house, a good five years at least. As he handed it over, a thought occurred to him. “Have you ever spanked her?”

Maud frowned in thought. “You know, I don’t think I have,” she admitted with a chuckle.

“She’s very wiggly,” Mycroft warned her. Seconds later he frowned. “Why am I telling you that? You’ve had plenty of practice on Sherlock after all. Enough practice for a lifetime of naughty children.”

“Well you weren’t exactly an angel yourself, Mycroft, though you were considerably better behaved than Sherlock,” she admitted. Maud was pleased that he seemed much calmer now, as if his own anger had exhausted him.

“Did you really get arrested?” Sherlock asked, barging into the room. “Did Rose really get you arrested? Handcuffs and everything?” The scowl on his older brother’s face answered the question and the middle Holmes laughed. “She’s a genius! I’ve never thought of that! I wonder how she did? That’s brilliant! Are there mug shots I can see?”

This was going downhill quickly as Maud could practically feel Mycroft tensing. “Sherlock, please don’t encourage your sister’s misbehavior by calling it brilliant. And especially don’t _tell_ her that you approve of it. In fact, I forbid you to congratulate her on this because it is not congratulation worthy.”

Sherlock sighed heavily. “Mug shots?” he asked hopefully. When Mycroft’s face went red, he started laughing again.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes! Do not laugh at your brother’s misfortune,” Maud ordered, giving him a stern look. “I _am_ holding the spanking spoon after all.” She was immensely pleased when Sherlock instantly stopped smirking.

“My misfortune?” Mycroft sputtered. “My _misfortune?!_ ”

Rolling her eyes Maud pulled Sherlock out of the study by his ear. “Leave your brother be, Sherlock. Nineteen or no nineteen, you live in this house and I _will_ spank you if you rile him up any further. Is that understood?”

Sherlock’s face flushed a scarlet color. Embarrassment. How very, very _dull_ and _ordinary_. Would she really do that though? And was he willing to chance that she would? “Understood,” he replied.

“Thank you.” Maud kissed his cheek before heading upstairs to deal with her littlest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does Mycroft not want to claim Rose? Will he and Rose make amends with one another?-- to be continued!


	23. Child of Mine Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have yet to learn what Mycroft’s full name was in the series, so I have a bit of fun with that in this story. If we ever do discover the whole of his name, I’ll correct it at that time.

Rose was sitting on her bed when Maud knocked lightly and opened the door. She looked up in alarm, but seeing as it was only Mummy, she relaxed once more. “Mummy? I’m very, very sorry,” she said in a tiny voice. As soon as Maud sat down, Rose crawled into her lap and began listing her crimes. “I shouldn’t have played in the bouncy house and I shouldn’t have climbed the shelves and made all the toys fall off and I shouldn’t have said My kidnapped me. It just sort of came out, that one,” Rose admitted, frowning a bit as she thought over the day’s events. “He always says I’m not his anyway, but it just sort of came out. I didn’t think first, and I didn’t know they’d believe it Mummy, honest. I tried to tell the lady at the store that it wasn’t true, that I was just being silly, but she didn’t believe me and then they took Mycroft away and then I went in a police car too. They just wouldn’t listen Mummy!”

Maud could only imagine that the realization that her beloved brother was being arrested because of her, and then kept separated from her was frightening for Rose, especially as no one believed her when she took her statement back. “That’s what happens sometimes when we don’t think about things baby,” Maud said gently. She put the spoon down beside her in order to wrap both arms around Rose. “That’s why it’s so important that we always tell the truth and behave properly. Otherwise, things happen that we don’t mean to or want to.”

Rose nodded, snuggling even closer. “Mummy, will Mycroft ever forgive me? It makes my heart hurt to think he might not. I’m not very sure he ever will. What will I do without him?” She looked up at her mother, anxiety written on her face. Rose couldn’t imagine what life would be like if her brother hated her forever and ever.

“We always forgive people that we love when they make mistakes, don’t we?” Maud asked. When Rose nodded, she continued on. “Then of course he will, because he loves you so much. He loves you and is so proud of you. Just because he was very angry doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you, or that he would ever hurt you my darling.”

“I’ll be very, very good so he forgives me. I didn’t mean to be very awful and naughty today,” Rose replied.

“I know, but you did make some very poor choices, and we must always answer for all our choices, good and bad, don’t we?” Again, Rose nodded, and Maud continued. “You’re going to have a spanking and then you’ll stay in your room for the rest of the day. I’ll make sure your snack and supper are sent up for you to eat, but other than using the loo, you’re going to stay in here until you wake up in the morning. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Rose answered dutifully. Without even being told, she stood up and pushed her trousers down before bending over Maud’s lap.

“Mummy’s very proud of you,” Maud told her sincerely. She lowered Rose’s pants and reached for the spoon, bringing it down with a _pop_ on Rose’s left cheek, followed by a matching smack on the right cheek. Then the spoon fell fast and furious all across the little bottom over her knee, lighting a fire in it as the skin quickly turned pink. Maud wasn’t spanking _too_ hard, but she knew just how to do it with a little flick of the wrist that _really_ made it sting and always made for a very repentant child when it was done.

“Ow! Owowow! Mummy Ouch!” Rose squealed as the spoon stung her bottom over and over again. She began squirming and kicking within the first dozen swats and was very dismayed when Mummy just kept going! Her bum was hot and stinging and still the spoon fell over and over again.

“ _You_ must _always_ tell the _truth_ Rosenwyn, and _think_ before you make _choices_. That way you’ll _make the right choices_ ,” Maud lectured, emphasizing certain words with sharp swats to Rose’s sit spots. She kept a firm grip on Rose, making certain she wouldn’t wriggle right off her lap, and ignored her yelps and howls.

“Ow! Mummy! I’m sorry! Sorry! Mummy! Oww!” Rose threw her hands behind her in a futile attempt to protect her cheeks from the spoon, only to have them pinned to the small of her back. “Nooooooo! Mummy! Please! Ow!”

Maud was determined to leave no spot unspanked and often re-spanked areas of Rose’s bottom, paying special attention to her sit spots and even the tops of her thighs. She wasn’t the least bit surprised when Rose burst into heartfelt tears and kicked her clothing down to her ankles and then right off altogether.

Only when Rose went still over her lap and truly sobbed did Maud draw the spanking to a close. “Are you going to tell the truth from now on? And think about things before you make choices?” she asked, peppering the now bright red cheeks, drawing a renewal of tears from her little one. Only when she saw Rose nod in answer to the questions did the spoon stop smacking. Dropping the spoon onto the floor, Maud’s hand replaced it, gently rubbing a bit of the sting away.

“All done, baby, all done,” Maud soothed. “You were a very good girl for Mummy. Are you ready for a cuddle?” When she nodded, Maud easily lifted Rose up and cuddled her close, continuing to gently rub Rose’s thoroughly paddled little bum as she soothed her baby’s tears away.

\-----------------------------------

Later that evening, Mycroft and Maud sat in the sitting room with cups of tea and various reading materials. Rose was fast asleep, Sherlock was in his room though probably not asleep, but he was quiet enough that mother and oldest son were relaxed in their companionable silence. After an hour or so, Maud got up to make fresh tea and brought the pot out with her when it was done.

“Myc, can I ask you something?” Maud questioned, not wanting to interrupt him if he was working.

Mycroft closed the folder in his hands and looked up at her with interest. “What’s that, Mother?”

Maud handed him his cup of tea and sat down beside him on the couch. “Why does it bother you so much? When strangers mistake you for Rose’s father or ask if she belongs to you.”

“Because I’m not,” Mycroft replied, his brow unconsciously furrowing as he looked at his mother. “Why do you ask?”

“They’re just strangers, Mikey. People who come and go from your life in five minutes time,” Maud pointed out in a gentle tone. “It clearly bothers you and I just want to know why.”

It was never easy for Mycroft to delve into his feelings, even if it was only his mother asking. He awkwardly cleared his throat and shifted uneasily before responding. “I’m not her father. She had a father, a wonderful father, and the fact that he cannot be here now does not mean that he never existed and I don’t want to act as though he didn’t. It…”

Sensing his disquiet, Maud reached over and squeezed his hand gently before letting it go.

“It dishonors Father’s memory to claim Rose as my own, or let people assume that she is mine. I can’t and won’t usurp that title from him, even if he isn’t here to object to it, or to raise her. That doesn’t sit right with me,” Mycroft explained, his words tentative as if slowly trying to sort out his feelings word by word.

“My darling boy,” Maud murmured. “You’re a wonderful son, do you know that? You make me so very proud. But in this, Myc, you’re very wrong. You were not the man to help create Rose that is very true. But you, my son, are the only father she’ll ever know. Its okay, Myc, to take some credit for that. Your father would be the last person to object to that, I promise you. Should he be watching us from somewhere beyond right now, I’m sure he’s comforted by the fact that there’s someone here to do for Rose what he cannot do.”

Mycroft took a sip of his tea, uncertain how to respond to all this emotional outpouring from his mother. Secretly, however, he was pleased by her words.

“Now, let’s not get carried away, of course, and give important people the wrong impression of our family,” Maud laughed. “But if someone at the shops happens to say “Oh, your little girl is so cute,” it’s alright to just say, “Yes, she is,” and move on. Rose will never know how much her father really loved her, but she’ll always know how much you love and cherish her. You are raising her Mycroft. Father or not, that’s precisely what you’re doing, and much more of it seems to be on your own lately.”

“Mother, your health isn’t your fault, I certainly don’t blame you for needing time to rest and recoup whenever necessary,” Mycroft hurried to assure her. “Please don’t feel guilty.”

“I promise not to feel guilty, so long as you promise me not to feel guilty for taking credit where credit is due for Rose’s upbringing,” she countered.

“Alright, I promise,” he grumbled. “Though I don’t know how well I’m doing at this bringing up business considering today. That child… she could drive a saint to commit suicide, Mother, honestly!”

Maud laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “You’re doing a wonderful job, Mycroft. There’s no one else in the world I would trust her with, even after this afternoon’s rather appalling display of anger. You know, I can’t help but wonder if, in her own way, Rose was trying to make a point in addition to all the chaos. Subconsciously of course,” Maud clarified. “But perhaps it bothers her that you’re so reluctant to claim her and always ready to jump on people for their assumptions. Think on that Mycroft, hm? I’m off to bed now. Sleep well.”

\--------------------------------------------

The following morning Maud summoned the energy to make a lavish breakfast for her family, wishing she could do this more often. “Sherlock, will you go get baby? Tell her its breakfast and she can come down in her pajamas.”

She watched as Sherlock took the stairs two at a time and then returned a few moments later without his sister.

“She won’t come down. _Someone_ …” Sherlock paused to glare at his older brother. “Scared the daylights out of her yesterday, so she’s not coming down until she’s certain Mycroft isn’t mad at her anymore.”

Maud sighed heavily and gave her eldest a _look_. “You didn’t make amends with Rose yesterday? I thought I asked you to do that Mycroft. Please go do so.”

“And say what, Mother?” Mycroft asked, sounding rather irritated.

“Tell baby you forgive her so she’ll come to the table and eat. You frightened her yesterday with all the bellowing and you _shook_ her, Mycroft. Say you’re sorry and that she’s forgiven and then it’ll be all better and I will be a very happy mother.”

Mycroft’s jaw tightened. “I get arrested because of her and now I have to tell her that I’m sorry she was upset that I shouted at her? I don’t think so. If she’s so concerned about being forgiven, she’s a big girl; she can come and ask me herself.”

“Well I do think so and you’ll do it because your mother is telling you to,” Maud scolded her eldest son. “Honestly Mycroft, I’m not asking for anything outrageous here. She was afraid of you, and she deserves an apology for being shaken like that. Go, now.”

“Mother, let’s not be overdramatic,” Mycroft responded, helping himself to some tea.

“Mycroft Edwin Darcy Holmes!” Maud shouted. “You will do as you’re asked because I told you to and because I still have my spanking spoon and will not feel shy about putting it to good use! Now please, go be the 30 year old you are and tell the 8 year old not to be frightened of you anymore!”

Sherlock’s jaw dropped as Maud threatened to spank Mycroft. “This is the happiest day of my life,” he murmured.

“That was low Mother. Very low,” Mycroft ground out.

“Wait, wait, Darcy? _Darcy_?” Sherlock repeated. “Seriously, that’s part of his name?”

Maud rolled her eyes. “Your father wanted to name him Leopold. Or Winston Churchill. In the end we decided we liked Mycroft best. But yes, Mycroft Edwin Darcy Holmes is his proper name.”

“I wish you had named him Winston, then we could call him Winnie!” Sherlock smirked delightedly at his brother, whose face was rapidly reddening. “Where did the Darcy come from?”

“Never you mind Sherlock,” Maud commented. “Mycroft, I don’t see you moving yet.” She stared her son down, hoping Mycroft wouldn’t call her bluff. He _was_ thirty after all, but she was counting on the way he typically avoided arguing with her to get him to obey without her having to carry out the threat.

“For the record, I don’t believe for a second you’d do it,” Mycroft grumbled as he got up from the table. If it was anyone but his mother there’d be no way in hell someone got away with talking to him like that.

“Whatever makes you happy dear, as long as you do as you’re told and bring baby to the table,” Maud responded, sounding very pleased with herself.

\------------------------------------------------

Mycroft headed upstairs, still believing his mother was exaggerating. He’d been very angry and had shouted at Rose, which she very much deserved, but surely she wasn’t actually frightened of him. After all the times she’d been in trouble, shouted at, and spanked, one would think Rose would be used to it by now. Knocking lightly on her door, he called out, “Rose, it’s Mycroft. May I come in?”

“No!” was the immediate response. “I’m already very sorry, I promise!”

Rolling his eyes Mycroft opened the door anyway.

As soon as she saw him, Rose went pale and threw the bed covers up over her head. “I said sorry, I said sorry and Mummy spanked me already! Please, My, I’m really sorry! I don’t want another spanking, please! I’ll be good!”

Before Mycroft could even get a word in edgewise, he could hear her start to cry under the blankets. He froze in place, halfway between the door and her bed, listening in horror to his sister’s fervent apologies, followed by tears. Good god, Mother had _not_ been exaggerating at all.

Mycroft thought back on yesterday and recalled in detail the events at Scotland Yard, his heart dropping as he did so. He’d done more than just shout at her. He’d towered over her, ignored her frantic tears and _shook_ her. My god, how could he have done this? How could he have frightened her so? He’d never lost his temper with her that way before.

Closing the distance between himself and the bed, Mycroft knelt down beside it and began rubbing the lump under the blankets, which was presumably Rose’s back. “Oh Rose,” he murmured. “Poppet, I’m so sorry. Please don’t cry and there’s no need to apologize any further. Come out from under there, please? So we can talk? It’s not much fun talking to a blanket; it makes me feel rather silly.” He kept his tone soft and gentle and continued to rub her back, hoping to her coax her to at least take her head out of the blankets.

When it became clear that Rose was not going to come out from under the blankets, Mycroft let out a sigh and stood up to kick off his shoes. Carefully he lifted Rose and scooted her further over on the bed and then stretched out on it himself and rested his back on the headboard, before pulling the lump back into his arms for a cuddle. “There’s no need to cry Rose. You’re not in any further trouble and I’m not angry with you anymore,” Mycroft promised. “We’ll have a good long cuddle until you feel like moving the blankets away from your face so we can talk properly. Just don’t tell Sherlock,” he added. Knowing he’d made such a monumental mistake with Rose made his heart squeeze with anguish. She depended on him, she needed him, and he’d let her down.

Mycroft’s efforts at cuddling the lump in the blanket were finally rewarded when Rose pushed the bed clothes away from her face and rolled onto her side to look up at Mycroft. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t wanna have a spanking with a belt and I don’t--”

Mycroft gently placed a finger over her lips, silencing her anxious whispers. “I’m the one that’s sorry Rose. I should never have said those things, or frightened you so. I lost my temper,” he admitted. “It’s okay to be angry about something but I chose to express that anger in an unacceptable manner and scared you in the process, which was truly never my intention. I promise never, ever to lose my temper like that again and you’re more than forgiven for the mess yesterday. Spankings always wipe the slate clean, don’t they?”

He smiled when she nodded. “You had your spanking from Mummy and there’s no reason to ever think about this again. You’re not in any further trouble, I promise, and I’m not going to shout at you about it anymore. I’m so sorry Poppet, from the bottom of my heart, for scaring you so much. Do you think you can ever forgive me?”

Rose looked thoughtful for a moment, as if assessing the truthfulness of his words before finally nodding. “Yes, I forgive you My. I love you and I don’t ever want you to go away, to jail or anywhere else. I’m sorry I was very, very bad.” She pressed her face against his chest, hiding it away in shame.

The fact that she was apologizing again, and still felt as if she were more in the wrong than he was, made Mycroft feel even worse. “You weren’t very, very bad. I don’t know exactly what you were doing, but I don’t think you ever really intended for me to be arrested. Did you?”

“No, and they wouldn’t believe me when I said that it wasn’t true and you were my My,” Rose admitted.

“What made you do it in the first place?” He watched curiously as the little girl’s face went bright red.

“Well, I was sitting among all those toys and you had that _look_ on your face and I thought for sure you were going to… to…” Rose huffed, feeling embarrassed. “I thought you were going to take me to the bathroom and spank me again and I didn’t want that, so I was trying to delay it. That just happened to be the first thing that came into my head to say.”

“I had no idea that particular spanking had so much of an impact on you,” Mycroft murmured. It had been a good two years or even closer to three, since he’d hauled her into a public restroom at a restaurant and given her a sound spanking. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“My!” Rose whined, poking him gently in the stomach with her finger. She giggled when he poked her nose in response.

“I trust that you’re not going to say such things again?” Mycroft asked, turning serious once more.

“No, I promise,” Rose assured him. “I’m sorry I made you so angry.”

“Oh, no, my anger is my fault and mine alone,” Mycroft countered, holding her a little tighter. “That was very unacceptable and I promise it will never happen again. I absolutely hate the thought of you being frightened of me, poppet.”

“Does it make your heart hurt?” she asked curiously.

“Yes it does. I’m so sorry,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “I would never, ever hurt you poppet. You mean far too much to me to do that.”

The two snuggled together for a few moments in silence before Rose spoke up again. “My? Why don’t you like people to think I’m yours? Aren’t I yours, sorta? Is it because I’m very naughty so much?”

Damn, how he hated it when Mother was right! Despite his displeasure at Maud’s theory being correct, Mycroft chuckled at Rose’s final question. “You’re not naughty all the time Rose, even if it does feel that way sometimes. You’re a very good girl, with a good heart; you just have a bad habit of making poor choices. But that has nothing to do with other people thinking you’re my child. It’s simply that you _aren’t_ mine, Rose,” he told her gently.

Rose looked completely crestfallen before resting her head against his chest once more, beginning to worry a button on his shirt. She was silent, her shoulders hunched in an almost defeated manner.

Oh god, he’d messed up again, Mycroft thought to himself. She was the very picture of dejection, cuddled up against him, trying to hide her sad little face, playing with his button. Honestly, the button thing was one of the most adorable things Rose did. And then…

To Rose’s credit it was just a few tears that slid down her cheeks and fell onto his shirt. How the hell was he going to fix this? Why did sentiment have to be so bloody complicated? _Because you care so much_ , his conscience prodded him. Caring was such a pain in the arse! He’d have to just muddle his way through this and hope he did it right!

“You aren’t mine, biologically speaking,” Mycroft began, speaking a bit hesitantly. “But that doesn’t have to matter very much, does it?” He began carding his fingers through her curls, wild and sticking up in various places the way they did every morning. “In fact, it doesn’t have to matter at all.”

Rose shifted a bit so she could look up at him again, her face brimming with hope. “It doesn’t?”

Mycroft scooped Rose up, moving her from cuddling against his side to snuggle right in his lap. “It doesn’t,” he assured her, kissing her forehead. “Because you’re mine in all the ways that matter, aren’t you?”

“I am?” Rose asked, tugging her blanket up around them.

“You are. I take care of you when you’re sick; I tuck you in at night--”

“Not all nights,” Rose interrupted. “Mummy does sometimes and Sherlock does too.”

“Not all nights,” Mycroft agreed. “I talk with your teachers and check your homework when Sherlock doesn’t beat me to it, I spank you when you misbehave,” he added, giving her bum a firm pat.

“And you taught me how to read and write and ride a bike too,” Rose offered after giving him a _look_ for the pat. “Can’t forget those things, they’re important too.”

“Yes they are. But what it really comes down to, when you think about it, is that I’m the one raising you, doing all these things with you and if that doesn’t make you, in effect, _my_ child, then I haven’t the faintest idea what would,” Mycroft admitted. “It meets all the parameters of the typical parent-child relationship, minus the biological aspect of it, so there you are. We meet the parameters, you and I.”

Rose smiled in contentment and gave a little sigh. “That’s lovely,” she decided. Her smile grew even wider when he kissed the top of her head.

“Most important of all… I love you very much,” Mycroft said softly. “And I’m very… well…” He cleared his throat in an attempt to clear the lump in his throat; more sentiment. “I’m proud to be the one raising you, Rose Holmes.” He realized as he said the words that they were in fact very true, every single one of them.

Rose’s stomach chose that exact moment to growl loudly, causing both siblings to laugh. “Should we go down to breakfast now?” Mycroft asked. “Mother is probably wondering where we are.” He was surprised to see Rose shake her head no. “No? Why not?”

“My bum hurts,” she whispered, her face growing red.

“Ah,” he murmured. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” Mycroft set her gently on the bed and briefly exited the room. A moment later he returned with some aloe vera. “This will help a bit, if you’d like me to put some on.”

The little girl stared at him for a moment, her eyes wide. “But… but… you _never_ do that!”

“I never do this when I spank you, but I’m not the one that spanked you this time, was I?” Mycroft asked, taking a seat on the bed. “Come on, before I change my mind. Over my knee.”

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Rose did as she was told for once. Mycroft pushed her nightgown up and out of the way before pulling down her pants and gently applying the aloe vera. “Feel a bit better?” he asked when he finished.

“Everything feels better,” Rose murmured. “My bum _and_ my heart!” She rewarded him with a hug before the two siblings headed downstairs to finally eat their breakfast.

\-----------------------------------------------

_Two Weeks Later_

Mycroft and Rose were waiting in line with their groceries as Tesco. When their turn finally came, she helped Mycroft put the groceries on the counter. As soon as the last grocery was on the counter, Rose reached for her favorite chocolate bar and held it up for Mycroft to see. “May I have one? Please?”

She’d been very well behaved, Mycroft reflected, and he didn’t see the harm in giving her a small reward. “Yes, you may,” he agreed, taking the candy and putting it on the counter.

“Thank you!” Rose exclaimed before bouncing down to begin bagging their items.

The cashier, a friendly middle-aged woman, watched Rose bounce off and smiled. “Goodness, your daughter is so polite! You never hear children with such manners anymore,” she commented.

Mycroft returned the woman’s smile. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, a note of pride in his voice. “She’s a good girl.” For all the mischief and chaos she caused, that child of his was, in fact, a very good girl at heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To ALL my reviewers and readers, thank you so much for taking the time to read my stories and especially for leaving your wonderful feedback! Next up: Despite Mycroft’s assertions that Sherlock and Rose are very much alike, Rose does something that makes him realize how very much like Mycroft she really is.


	24. Wandering Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lonelywritergirl who requested a story that proves Rose is more like Mycroft than he generally admits, featuring little Mycroft!

Mycroft Holmes strode into his mother’s private study with a sense of purpose, going immediately to her desk. “Mother, today is library day and we are required to return our books this very day or we shall be penalized and forced to pay fines.”

Maud Holmes looked up from her work, mentally sighing at her beloved nine-year-old son. She missed the days when he called her Mummy and wished she could remember a time when he didn’t sound so very grown up and serious.

The Holmes family had repaired to their cottage for the final month of summer break, allowing time for the townhouse to be properly aired out and given a good cleaning by the very efficient maid service Maud hired to do so. The cottage and its land was a lovely retreat but it lacked a proper library, like that found in Holmes Manor or even the London townhouse. It had only taken Mycroft a few days to read through all the books he thought might be interesting and thus Maud and Mycroft had made a trip to the library in the nearest village, checking out a great many books which were, as he had so accurately pointed out, due back today.

The village library only allowed books to be checked out for one week, in order to keep plenty of books on the shelves for the many people in the area that frequented the library, being the only one within a reasonable distance. The one week rule was very sternly enforced and fines levied immediately the morning after a book’s due date.

Maud waved her son over to her side and kissed the top of his head. Mycroft always kept his hair relatively short, unknowingly denying his mother the pleasure of the curly hair he exhibited as a tiny boy. Yet one more example that her baby growing up far too quickly! “I must get this paper done, darling. The publisher is waiting very eagerly for it. I’ll try to finish quickly so we can go today, but if not, we’ll go straight away tomorrow and pay our fines.”

“Mother that is not acceptable,” Mycroft replied in an even tone. “It is very rude not to bring our books back and share with people. There are too many stupid people in the world to withhold knowledge from them and thus continue the decline in society’s overall intelligence.”

Laughing, Maud hugged her boy tightly, and smiled when he wrapped his arms around her in her return. “Oh Mikey,” she murmured. “I don’t think the library will be very angry with us if we don’t make it until tomorrow. We’ll make certain to pay the fines and keep in good standing with them, I promise. There’s no need to be _quite_ so serious about it my dear.”

The young boy looked less than convinced and sighed in displeasure, but nevertheless leaned into his mother’s touch, allowing her to snuggle him close without a word of complaint. Mycroft was not one for coddling, kissing, or invasions of personal space in general but there was something special about his Mother. All soft and warm, her embraces were full of love and strength, the scent of lilacs drifting into his nose in a soothing way each time she hugged him tight. While Father might give him an awkward one-armed hug or pat his shoulder firmly in approval, Mother outright refused to settle for so little in terms of affection. Mother hugged whether Mycroft wanted her to or not and for some inexplicable reason he never fought her about it, he merely acquiesced. When no one else was looking, like now for instance, he wrapped his arms around his mother in return.

Mother’s snuggles weren’t the only thing Mycroft loved about his mother though, secretly or otherwise. His mother did important and intelligent work and even though he was disgruntled that said work was going to make them delinquent with the library, the nine-year-old admired Maud’s dedication and especially her impressive intellect. Mycroft knew without a doubt that his Mother was the smartest mother of anyone he knew, and was likely the smartest mother _ever_. “What are you working on Mother? Is it very interesting?”

Maud’s eyes lit up and she launched into an explanation of a complex mathematical probability and discounted the current way it was taught in upper level schools and universities, offering a better and clearer method for teaching it. She could practically see the wheels turning in Mycroft’s head as she spoke and her heart swelled with pride at how smart her boy was. He may not have understood it entirely, but he grasped the very basics at least and that was more than most people comprehended!

“I’m so glad I have a smart Mother. It would be very embarrassing if you were stupid,” Mycroft decided, sounding quite pleased. He then made a face as Maud pulled him into another hug, but really it was just for show; a mere token protest.

“Oh Myc, you are such a joy! Are you truly proud of Mummy, darling?” Maud looked down at her child with eyes full of warmth and love.

“I’m proud of _Mother_ ,” Mycroft corrected. “But yes, I am very proud that you are intelligent. You would be very insufferable otherwise. Especially with this…” He gestured at the fact that they were, in fact, cuddling, laying all blame for it upon Maud’s head. “This and stupidity would be utterly intolerable.”

Maud adored her son, who in general was both delightful and well behaved, though rather more serious than a nine-year-old should really be. She rewarded her son’s praise with a kiss on top of his head and a tighter snuggle. She was more than a little thrilled that Mycroft nestled against her and tried to do so in a very subtle way, but a mother always knows! “Try to remember this moment, when you said you were proud of me, because in about three years you’ll be asking me to drop you two blocks away from the school so no one sees your Mum drove you to school.”

“That seems counterproductive,” Mycroft murmured with a frown. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’ll be older and want to seem more independent to your peers and you’ve already got quite the independent spirit,” Maud told him. “I’ll try to finish this quickly, Mikey. But if I’m not able to, we’ll go to the library first thing in the morning and settle our account with them.”

The boy nodded, signaling that he understood, but not that he agreed and after giving her a small smile, he departed his mother’s study.

The hours seemed to tick by very slowly, even as he enjoyed working through an old algebra textbook he found in the cottage, knowing that later his mother would look at his work and hopefully find no faults with it. When 2pm hit with no sign of Mother finishing anytime soon, Mycroft took a deep breath and quickly formulated a new plan to avoid upsetting the library. He feared that if they made the library cross that he would no longer be able to borrow any books. That would make visits to the cottage intolerably boring! The library was four miles each way and Mycroft had walked as many as six miles with Father before. Surely he could manage to make eight miles in a reasonable amount of time and if he left right this minute, he would be home in time for supper!

Feeling rather proud of himself for finding such a reasonable solution, Mycroft readied the library bag, making sure each item on the printed check-out receipt was inside. Upon confirming that they were all there, he put on his shoes and started off on the road to the little village. He was very certain that Mother would be very proud that he found a solution that allowed her to continue working uninterrupted!

Mycroft arrived at the library without incident, feeling invigorated and a bit triumphant after completing his four mile walk there. He dutifully returned his books, greeting the librarian with a curt nod. Sometimes she was very helpful and he liked her; other times she smiled too much and gave him funny looks when scanning the books he wanted to check out. That was when he didn’t like her.

Though his original intention was merely to return the books and go straight home, the well stocked library shelves beckoned to him and the nine-year-old was unable to resist their allure. If he only looked at them very briefly, Mycroft was certain he could check a few out and still make it home in time for supper. Mother was always very insistent on family meal times, especially when they were at the cottage. Mentally justifying a fifteen minute window for browsing into his calculations of distance and speed to return home on time, Mycroft disappeared among the shelves, breathing in what had to be his favorite scent in the world: books! Old, new, yellowing, gold-gilded, the smell of books was akin to heaven to the curious boy and his eyes lit up at the amount of knowledge available at his fingertips.

“I thought I had one more straggler back here,” the librarian commented sometime later. She discovered Mycroft among the tomes of classic literature and gave the young boy a smile. “You have just enough time to check out your books before we close for the night.”

“Libraries should be open twenty-four hours a day,” Mycroft commented as he gathered his selections. “The need for information and greater knowledge acknowledges no time constraints. Or business hours of operation.”

The librarian merely chuckled and scanned his library card. As she handed the card back, her smile became a bit of a frown as she surveyed the sudden panicked look on Mycroft’s face.

Mycroft was filled with dread as he realized it was now nearly 5pm. His walk to the library had taken almost ninety minutes! He’d never make it back home on time for dinner at six, _and_ he would arrive home after dark, which was not allowed.

“Everything alright?” the librarian asked as she put the books into his bag.

The boy nodded, forcing himself to relax and accepted the full bag and printed receipt before hurrying out the door to begin his walk home.

When Maud finally finished and printed her article, it was already 4:40. The library closed at 5, meaning they wouldn’t make it today, at least not with any time for browsing the shelves. Knowing how disappointed Mycroft would be, she went to look for him, hoping an offer to bake a cake together might cheer him up. Maud checked all the usual places: bedroom, sitting room, garden, tree house, but Mycroft was nowhere to be found!

Just past 5pm, William Holmes arrived at the cottage, having finally managed to escape work and leave London. He was greeted by a frantic wife and immediately became concerned.

“Mycroft is missing and it’s going to be dark soon!” Maud explained. “We need to find him!” Grabbing torches, the anxious parents began searching the land their cottage was on, examining favorite walking trails, checking ponds, and William even set off on foot to find out if Mycroft had wandered to a neighbor’s. Two miles to the nearest neighbor wasn’t a particularly long walk for Mycroft, even if he was only nine. His visit to neighbors on both sides turned up nothing; no one had seen Mycroft or heard from him, but the adults readily joined in the search for the missing boy.

Walking in the dark was not a fun experience, Mycroft discovered. The moon wasn’t full tonight and there were clouds in the sky, obscuring his best light source as he walked along the lonely road back to the cottage alone. He wasn’t afraid of the dark by any means, as that would be too silly and childish for Mycroft Holmes to indulge in that sort of thing, but it was unnerving to have his sight so restricted by the dark while on the desolate road. There was no telling what, or who, he might encounter before getting home.

When the lights of the cottage came into view, Mycroft felt a rush of relief that was immediately followed by a sense of dread that settled heavily in his stomach. Mother was going to be very unhappy with him, but he had little time to think about that before Maud was flying out of the door and wrapping her arms around him tightly.

“Oh Mikey, Mikey! I’ve been so worried! Where have you been?” Maud hugged her baby, kissing his forehead.

“I’m sorry I’m late for dinner, Mother,” he murmured, allowing her to snuggle him to her heart’s content.

“Forget about dinner, I was worried because I couldn’t find you! Where have you been?” It was then that Maud noticed the library bag. “Did you go to the library, Mycroft?”

The nine-year-old nodded. “I returned all our books and checked out some new ones. I stayed too long, or I would have been back for supper _and_ before dark,” Mycroft stressed.

“Mycroft Holmes! Why would you ever do such a thing? I said I was busy and we would go first thing tomorrow morning!”

“You were busy Mother, but I wasn’t,” Mycroft countered. “You never said I couldn’t go.”

Maud stood up and crossed her arms over her chest, giving her son a stern look. “Since when do you just “go” somewhere without telling anyone or getting permission first? When has that _ever_ been allowed? The answer, young man, is never. That has never been allowed, and neither are you allowed to be out alone after dark! You didn’t ask permission because you knew I wouldn’t give it; am I right?” When Mycroft’s face flushed, Maud knew she had him.

“I… I didn’t think about it in those terms, Mother,” he countered quietly, beginning to shuffle his feet a bit. “It was never my intention to worry you!”

“But it _was_ your intention to go and come back before I noticed you were gone wasn’t it? How exactly where you going to explain that we no longer needed to visit the library tomorrow, Mycroft? Clearly, young man, you didn’t think this through very well at all,” Maud scolded.

His cheeks burning red, Mycroft couldn’t really argue with his mother, so he stayed silent and found the floor very interesting to look at.

“Well I’m going to make sure you _do_ think about things properly from now on. Go to your room Mycroft, and stand in the corner. I’ll be up shortly to paddle your naughty bottom,” Maud said sternly.

Mycroft’s head shot up in alarm. A spanking?! “Mother! I’m too old for something to juvenile as that, surely,” he protested.

“If you’re not too old to break the rules, then you are certainly not too old to have your bottom smacked. Now do as you’re told or I’ll happily spank you in the kitchen instead of your room. Would you prefer that?” Maud challenged. She smirked when Mycroft hurried towards the stairs and proceeded to stomp up them to his room. Whenever he was in trouble, Mycroft immediately seemed to revert to the typical behavior of children of his age; once his attempts to talk himself out of trouble failed that is.

Maud gave Mycroft fifteen minutes to think about his actions before heading upstairs. She stopped briefly in the master bedroom to retrieve her hairbrush, and then knocked lightly on Mycroft’s door before letting herself in. She smiled to herself when she saw he was standing in the corner, proud that he listened so well. He really was a good boy and behavior like today was rather rare. Though generally, it all had the same cause: lack of forethought and impulsiveness. It was rare that Mycroft indulged in his impulsive side, but when he did, that led to trouble.

“Come here Mycroft,” Maud called, taking a seat on her son’s bed.

Mycroft turned away from the corner and hesitated for a moment before closing the distance between them. He stood in front of his mother, head down, face blushing red.

“Do you understand why you’re in trouble and getting a spanking?”

Mycroft nodded, keeping his eyes on the carpet at his feet.

“I want to make sure that you understand fully, so why don’t you tell me why you believe you’re in trouble,” Maud encouraged.

The nine-year-old knew that was not really a request. Mother almost always asked him to do this before a spanking. He hadn’t been given that many spankings in his nine years, but each was memorable, as were Mother’s habits when giving them. “I left the house without asking for permission, I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, I wasn’t here for supper, and I came home after dark.”

“Good,” Maud praised. She reached out to tip his chin up to look at her. “I just want you to be safe Mikey. The library isn’t worth risking your safety. You might think it is, but I don’t, because I don’t want to lose you, son. You’re very precious to me. And Mummy always spanks when you do things that aren’t safe, right?”

He nodded, a flush growing across his cheekbones. “Do you have to use that Mummy?” he whispered, gesturing to the hairbrush.

“I do,” she confirmed, her heart swelling when he called her Mummy. “Because you broke many rules today Mycroft. I know my hairbrush will teach you a very good lesson and you’ll think twice before breaking these rules again.”

Maud squeezed his hand and then drew him over to her right side, struggling to ignore the forlorn look on his face. Oh, how she hated having to punish her baby! But she’d rather punish now than lose him later because he hadn’t learnt his lesson. “Trousers and pants down, Mycroft.”

Mycroft obeyed, at least in part, unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers before pushing them down to his knees. His hands hesitated at the waistband of his pants and he gave Maud an imploring look. “May I keep them up, Mummy? Please?”

“No, Mycroft,” Maud said gently but firmly. “Those come down too. Mummy is going to paddle your bare bottom good and hard, don’t make it worse by not obeying now.”

He obeyed at once, pushing his pants down to his knees and bent over Mother’s lap. Mycroft cringed as she adjusted him a bit, putting his vulnerable bare bum in prime position for a sound smacking. “Mummy?” he said very softly. “I really am sorry I frightened you and I mean that very sincerely.”

Maud patted his back with her left hand. “I know Mikey. You’re a good boy, but you must remember the rules.” She wrapped her arm around his waist and raised the hairbrush in her right. The wooden back of the brush smacked down hard across the crest of his right cheek. A matching smack fell on the left as Maud methodically spanked down each cheek with hearty, stinging swats that painted the little bum over her lap a dusky pink. Once she spanked down each side, the brush began peppering his bottom with fast swats.

Mycroft tried hard to be brave and stoic about his spanking. He was _nine_ after all, far too old to squirm and whine and complain over Mother’s lap. That attitude lasted for about two minutes before beginning to crumble. It started with a bit of shifting his hips in response to the mighty sting the brush wielded. The shifting became more pronounced as Mother picked up the pace and Mycroft began grunting and outright squirming.

There was no need to lecture as Mycroft clearly understood what he had done wrong, so Maud concentrated fully on paddling her son’s bottom. She held on to him a little tighter as he began wiggling, but didn’t allow the growing signs of discomfort deter her. The hairbrush detoured from his cheeks to heat up his sit spots, and she even gave his upper thighs a bit of attention too.

Growing more and more uncomfortable with each smarting swat, Mycroft could feel tears welling up in his eyes. Wanting to be mature and brave, he tried to blink them away, but the tears did not cooperate and began trailing down his face. When Mother moved the brush to his upper thighs, Mycroft couldn’t help crying out and squirming in earnest. Once the tears started, there was no going back and before long, he was sobbing and yelping over Mother’s lap, brunching up the duvet in his hands to avoid trying to interfere with the spanking.

Mindful of her son’s distress, and the deep reddish hue that spread from the crest of his cheeks to his upper thighs, Maud drew the spanking to a close with a few last blistering swats to his sit spots. Dropping the hairbrush at her feet, Maud began rubbing Mycroft’s back gently. “We’re all done now Mikey,” she soothed. “You’ve learned a very good lesson, I know. You were very good and brave and Mummy is so proud. Such a good boy. Everything is all forgiven.”

Sobbing heavily, Mycroft laid over her knees for a moment before trying to get up. He quickly pulled his pants back up and kicked off his trousers before allowing Mother to cuddle him close. Sitting as comfortable as was possible on her lap, his bottom hanging between her knees, Mycroft was more than happily to let Mother snuggle and fuss over him while he cried out the last of his tears.

\--------------------------------------------

_22 Years Later_

Mycroft Holmes was panicking. The man who manipulated elections for the good of the world, enabled and facilitated difficult negotiations between countries that seemed to endlessly wish to blow each other up with every sort of weapon imaginable, was brought to his knees by his nine-year-old sister. Never in his life had he ever met anyone so easily able to break him as the sister he was trying very hard to raise.

They’d made an unscheduled trip to the family cottage. The Holmes family had not visited the cottage on a regular basis for years and Rose had only been six-years-old the last time they took up a brief period of residence at the cottage. It was just too far from London to be convenient for Mycroft, and really, this unscheduled trip was incredibly far from convenient, if he was honest. But somehow he had the feeling that this would be the last trip the four of them would make together.

Mother’s health was growing worse and worse by the day, though one had to admire her bravery and her continued presence in Rose’s life, doing her best to mother the growing girl. Rose, for her part, never complained and loved all the time spent with her mother, even if it was a few hours snuggled in bed with her watching telly or playing a board game. The time was coming, Mycroft knew, that he would need to find some way to tell Rose that Mother was dying. He had yet to discover the right way to tell his sensitive sister, and Mother wanted him to put it off as long as possible, not wanting her condition to overshadow Rose’s life.

With all this in mind, Mycroft had readily given in to his mother’s desire to spend the weekend at the cottage, albeit bringing a vast amount of work with him. After all, Rose and Sherlock were perfectly able to keep themselves occupied without needing either himself or Mother hovering around them with threats to make them behave.

Perhaps, in hindsight, he should have kept Rose close enough to make threats about her behavior. If he had, she might be here now rather than missing. Had that been the route Mycroft chose, he would even now be getting work done, rather than frantically combing the area for Rose. He had gone off in one direction while Sherlock had gone in the other. There were enough walking trails, wooded areas, and land for her to be virtually anywhere and take hours upon hours to locate. Though Rose was going to wish he never found her when he got his hands on her! She was going to be one _very_ sorry little girl!

“I think one of us should go to the village and alert the authorities,” Sherlock said, meeting Mycroft back at the house after two hours spent searching. “There’s so much ground to be covered and neither of us have any idea when she left.”

For once, Sherlock wasn’t to blame for Rose not being where she was supposed to be. Both brothers had dropped the ball today, rather preoccupied by their particular kinds of work that kept them from thinking about Mother. Rose _had_ been occupied and then, quite suddenly, the brothers had noticed she was missing.

“I had rather been hoping to avoid that, but you’re right, there’s just too much area for the two of us to cover,” Mycroft agreed with a sigh. “You keep looking; I’ll drive into the village. Call me if you find her.”

Ten minutes later, Mycroft was in the car and on the way into the nearby village, just four miles away. It was small, but there was at least one officer of the law for the general area and if anyone could organize a search party for a missing girl, it would be that officer. Time was of the essence because in an hour’s time it would be dark out.

As it turned out, Mycroft found he had no need to alert any authorities about Rose. He spotted the child in question exiting the library just as he drove into the village. “ROSENWYN!” Mycroft quickly parked the car and was very relieved to see that Rose was stopped and waiting for him and he hurriedly closed the distance between them.

Rose was waiting for him just outside the library with a big smile on her face. “Oh, Mycroft! Hi!” she greeted her eldest brother. Just a few seconds later, she began to rethink her greeting as Rose watched Mycroft’s face grow dark.

Briefly thrown by her nonchalant greeting, it took Mycroft several seconds to formulate a proper response. “Oh, Mycroft, _hi_? _Oh, Mycroft, hi?!_ Is that seriously all you have to say for yourself?!” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her with barely controlled anger written all over his face. “Have you been here this entire time?”

The little girl stared up at her angry brother with wide eyes, a blush spreading across her cheekbones. “Uh…”

““Uh” is not an answer,” Mycroft replied, his tone dangerously quiet. “Should I take that to mean you have no explanation of where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing for who knows how long?” He gave her thirty seconds to think of a response, not at all surprised when she continued to stare at him like a deer in headlights. “We’re going back to the cottage and you can think about how to answer those questions on the way there. If you don’t have answers by the time we arrive, you can spend further time thinking in the corner. Get in the car, _now_.”

Rose didn’t need to be told twice and immediately made a beeline for the passenger side of the car as Mycroft called Sherlock to inform him that Rose had been located. Once he got into the car, the two siblings sat silently the entire way back to the cottage, which was admittedly not a very long ride. Rose spent most of it trying to figure out just how much trouble she was in.

Had they been at home, or even the country house, Mycroft would have sent his wayward sister to his study to account for her actions. Unfortunately, the cottage was on the small and cozy side, so the eldest Holmes was forced to make do with directing Rose to her room. He took a few minutes to ensure he was able to remain calm before following her up.

Rose was sitting on her bed when he arrived and fully expected to be shouted at once again. Thus she was greatly surprised when Mycroft immediately scooped her up for a hug rather than begin his bellowing once more. She immediately snuggled into his strong hold and the two sat there for a few moments before anyone spoke.

“Do you have any idea how worried about you Sherlock and I were? We searched for you for hours, Rose, and had no clue where in the world you’d gone or why,” Mycroft said sternly while he still held her tight. “What in heaven’s name were you thinking? Do you have a proper explanation for me?”

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Rose began. “But I was bored and there weren’t any books that were interesting here. I saw the library when we came through the village yesterday and didn’t think it was all that far, so I decided to go.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to scold her, but suddenly paused before he could get even a word out. Inwardly he both chuckled and cringed. How many times had he said that Rose was so much like Sherlock? Well apparently, she was quite a bit like him as well. Secretly, this pleased him very much. Not the unauthorized trek to the village, but the fact that she would do the exact thing he had done at her age, was a telling sign of how alike they truly were. In fact, that was all the more reason to make an impression on her now so that she wouldn’t pull something like this again; he certainly hadn’t done it again after Mother had soundly paddled his bottom.

With this in mind, Mycroft moved Rose to stand her on her feet and gave her a stern look, inwardly smiling as Rose began shuffling her feet. “When have you ever been allowed to just “go” somewhere, Rosenwyn? Aren’t you required to ask permission or, at a bare minimum, tell an adult?”

The carpet was looking very interesting just then, Rose thought to herself, keeping her head down as Mycroft scolded her. “No. And yes.”

The eldest Holmes sighed. “Head up and look at me,” Mycroft directed. “Try that again.”

Rose’s face flushed as she looked at him. “No, I’m not allowed to just leave, but you and Sherlock were busy, so…” Her voice trailed off.

He rolled his eyes a bit. “That is a ridiculous reason to do something you know full well you are not allowed to do, young lady. Your reason for breaking the rules is immaterial, Rosenwyn. You knew you were breaking them; am I right?”

The little girl shuffled her feet again and gave him a shrug. “I didn’t think about it like that. I wasn’t trying to make you worried or keep you from work My, honest.”

That sounded rather familiar, he was forced to admit to himself. “Then I believe you are in need of a reason to think about it in those terms in the future, and I am more than capable of giving you such a reason,” Mycroft decided. “You wait right here, I’ll be back directly.”

Leaving Rose sitting on her bed, Mycroft quietly slipped into his mother’s room. Locating the hairbrush, he exited, shutting the door behind him, and went right back to Rose’s room. “Do you understand why you’re getting spanked?” he asked as he sat on her bed.

“My! My, no! Not that!” Rose protested, pointing at the hairbrush.

“That’s enough complaining out of you,” he responded very firmly. “If you didn’t want your bottom paddled you shouldn’t have wandered off like that with complete disregard for the rules. Now are you going to behave for me, or do you need some time in the corner to think about cooperating?”

Rose pouted a bit but shook her head no.

“Answer me verbally, please.”

“No.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. Considering the number of rules she knowingly violated, a bit of formality might be in order to make a stronger impression. “No, what?” he prompted.

A reddish hue settled on her face as Rose answered him quietly. “No, sir.”

“That’s better. Take these down,” he instructed, gesturing at her shorts. “And then over my lap.”

Rose obeyed, but was clearly did so unhappily, making a slight whining noise as she pushed her shorts to her knees and bent over Mycroft’s lap. Or attempted to at least; she was short enough that Mycroft assisted her a bit before adjusting her position, which only caused more whining. Her pants were then pulled down as well.

“My please! Don’t use the brush, please!” Rose begged. “Please don’t!” She squirmed anxiously a bit, but made no serious effort to escape. Mycroft’s arm was already around her waist to hold her securely across his knee, making escape impossible.

“Rosenwyn, I cannot think of even a single reason not to paddle your naughty bottom soundly. Especially after how worried Sherlock and I were,” Mycroft pointed out. He could hear her mumble something and asked her to repeat it.

“My bottom isn’t naughty,” the red faced imp retorted. “Body parts can’t actually misbehave of their own accord.”

That was all Sherlock, Mycroft thought with a grimace. Moving the brush to his left hand, he swatted her thighs once each with his hand. “Now is not the time to be smart, Rosenwyn,” he stated when she yelled out. “It is a turn of phrase, something I know you are aware of, considering the number of times I’ve said it to you in your short lifetime. You are naughty, therefore your bottom is also naughty and it will pay the price for your misbehavior. Any other cheeky remarks you’d like to make before we get started?” Mycroft rested the hairbrush menacingly on her cheeks.

“No! I mean, no sir!” Rose quickly corrected. “Sorry.”

“When you disregard cardinal rules in the manner you did today, you will be spanked each and every time that you do,” he lectured briefly. Raising the hairbrush he brought it down with a hearty, stinging smack on the crest of her left cheek. Ignoring the accompanying yelp, Mycroft spanked sharp and fast from crest to crease, painting the left side of her bottom pink, before following the same pattern on the right.

“Ow! Ow Mycroft! Noooooo! Ow!” Rose yelped. There was no being brave or stoic when it came to the hairbrush, which set her little bum on fire with each stingy swat. The discomfort grew quickly, first on one side of her bum then the other as Mycroft repeated his pattern. Just when the nine-year-old was certain it couldn’t get any worse, the hairbrush began peppering her sit spots.

Aiming for a sharp sting with each swat, Mycroft painted her sit spots a cherry red before moving the brush back to her cheeks. Rather than following any pattern at all this time, the brush landed at random, sometimes twice in the same spot, raising the color of Rose’s bum to a shade befitting her name. All the while Mycroft did his best to drown out her yelps and tears, which were both coming in full force.

“Sorry, I’m sorry My, I’m sorry!” Rose pleaded. Her little hands held on to his trouser leg in an effort to keep from reaching back, but even that didn’t work when the brush visited her tender sit spots a second time. “Owwwwwwwwiiiiiiiieeeeee!” she squealed, throwing a hand back.

Mycroft stopped only long enough to capture her hand and hold it to the small of her back. “You _do not_ put your _hands back_ while _being spanked_ ,” he scolded, using particularly sharp swats directed at her upper thighs to emphasize his point.

The swats to her thighs opened the floodgate of tears. Rose was crying before those very punishing smacks, but it went up in volume and intensity after the hairbrush finished scalding that tender area. Sobbing openly, she twisted and shifted her hips, trying desperately to avoid the spanks but Mycroft was an expert and ever missed no matter how much she tried to make that happen.

Determined to impart a lasting lesson, Mycroft landed another round of smacks to her cheeks, moving at a measured pace from the crest to her sit spots, lightening the strength behind the swats considerable. He doubted Rose noticed the difference however. With one last swat for each of her sit spots, Mycroft dropped the hairbrush on the floor and eased Rose’s pants back up over her scarlet bum.

Rose was sobbing for all she was worth by the time the spanking ended and it was only the fact that Mycroft lifted her up into his arms that made her realize it was finally over. When he hugged her tightly, she pressed her face against his shoulder and continued to cry hard enough that her shoulders shook.

Knowing it was a very well earned bottom warming did not make it easier for Mycroft to hear her tears. It bothered him more than he’d ever admit to be the person to make her cry so hard, but he would rather spank her and make her cry every single day than lose her. Holding her as tight as he dared, Mycroft rocked her gently in his arms. “It’s all done poppet, all over. You were my big, brave girl and I’m so proud of you,” he praised. “You’re forgiven and I still love you very much.” This he whispered in her ear, wanting to make sure she heard it over her tears. “No matter how many ridiculous things you do, or how many times I have to spank you, I will always love you.”

Mycroft kept up the litany of soothing and praising, determined to do so until she finishing having her well deserved cry. That was when he heard her whisper something but wasn’t quite able to catch it. “What was that poppet?”

“Don’t tell Mummy,” Rose whispered, taking her face out of his shoulder. “I know she’s not feeling good and I don’t want to bother her. I don’t want her to think I’m very bad either.”

“Mother loves you, and nothing you do will change that. I know you know that poppet,” Mycroft reminded her gently. “You’re not a bad girl, you made a mistake and had your spanking and that’s all there is too it. There’s nothing bad in you at all, ever. And I know for a fact that Mother would still love you even if we told her about your jaunt into the village today.”

“You do?” Rose asked. She kicked off her shorts and cuddled closer to her big brother. “How do you know?”

“If I tell you, you must promise me that you’ll never tell Sherlock. Do you promise?” Mycroft asked seriously. When she nodded earnestly he went on to say, “Because I did the exact same thing when I was your age.”

Rose’s pretty blue eyes went wide and her mouth fell open in shock. “No! Never! You wouldn’t ever, My!”

“I very much did do the same thing,” Mycroft replied, chuckling a bit. “And Mummy paddled my bum with her hairbrush, the same way I paddled yours with it. So I know for a fact that she wouldn’t think you were very bad, because she didn’t think that about me. Remember, it’s our choices that are poor or bad, not ourselves.”

“Did Mummy teach you that too? Did Mummy teach you everything you know? Is that why I get spanked, because she spanked you?” Rose’s mind was bursting with curiosity as she eagerly awaited his response.

“Yes she did; she and Father both taught me that. Mother didn’t teach me everything I know,” Mycroft admitted. “But she taught me a very great many things, and is, as you know, an exceptional mother.” Even though her health was fading fast, Mycroft admired his mother’s determination to continue mothering all three of them, but especially Rose. Story time, music time, playing board games, French braiding her hair in the mornings, their indomitable mother soldiered on and gave everything of herself each day for the little girl he held in his arms.

“My?” Rose spoke up, interrupting his thoughts. “Mummy isn’t going to ever get better, is she?”

Mycroft knew this day would come and had known it would for quite some time. Rose was so bright and perceptive and despite their best efforts to shield her from the fact that Maud was truly fading had finally noticed the changes that they couldn’t hide. Either that or it had taken her this long to be brave enough to ask.

“No,” Mycroft replied quietly. “She’s not going to get better.” Instinctively he held her tighter as her eyes filled with sadness. “But she’s here and loves us all very much.” He couldn’t bring himself to say that Mother was dying before their eyes; not just yet. He himself still struggled with the knowledge that Mother would not always be there.

Rose nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words. “What do we do, My? What do we do for Mummy?”

“We go on as we always have poppet,” he soothed, running his fingers through her always unruly curls. “That’s what will help Mother most is to continue on as we have been.”

“Okay. We can do that, especially if it makes Mummy happy,” Rose agreed. “I’m really glad I have you My.”

Mycroft kissed the top of her head. “I’m glad I have you too, poppet.” He smiled as she leaned up to kiss his cheek, suddenly looking mischievous. “I know that look! What do you want Rose?”

“Cake! Mummy and I made some this morning, before I got bored. She sat at the table and told me all the steps and it came out just lovely. Only we haven’t eaten any yet! That’s really very sad, My. We should go eat the cake before it feels unloved.” Rose gave him a brilliant smile that he couldn’t possibly hope to resist.

The eldest Holmes gaped at the littlest Holmes for several seconds before laughing loudly. “You are absolutely delightful sometimes, do you know that?”

“I try!” Rose quipped. “Come on, it’s cake time! Cake, cake, cake!”

“Alright, alright! Put your shorts back on Rose, or change into your pajamas and we’ll go eat cake,” Mycroft acquiesced with a smile. After kissing her head one more time, he exited her room and headed downstairs to start plating some cake. Naturally he awarded himself an extra large slice, feeling as though it was very well earned. After all, it was hard work being the eldest of the unruly Holmes siblings!


	25. The Science of Weaponry Part 1

“You want to make a cannon?” Sherlock repeated slowly. “For your science fair project. A cannon?”

Seven-year-old Rose nodded. “Yes! A very tiny one of course, otherwise it would be too heavy to get to school and put on a table and then it wouldn’t do me any good,” she explained.

Sherlock found himself slightly torn as how to respond to her request. Her bright smile and happy, shining eyes prodded him to say yes and he had to admit, he was proud of her creativity. Yet, the school couldn’t possibly allow that, could it? And then there was Mycroft…

But oh, she looked so excited!

“I’m not entirely certain this is a good idea,” Sherlock admitted. “I don’t think your school will allow it, considering a cannon is an explosive.” And cue the sad puppy eyes, he thought to himself, but was pleasantly surprised when she didn’t try to pull that.

“They did Sherlock! I asked my teacher and put it in my proposal that I was going to build a miniature cannon and Mr. Macleod said I could. It’s in writing and everything,” Rose assured her big brother.

“I really hope you have that permission in writing for me to see, because I don’t want to spank you for making things up,” Sherlock warned. “If you have it, go get it for me and let me see.”

Rose turned and bounded off down the hallway to find her school bag by the front door. After digging in it for a moment she pulled out a folder and ran back to the dining room where Sherlock was working. “Here, see? See? I wasn’t making it up.”

Taking the folder from her, Sherlock opened it up and looked at the two sheets inside of it. One was the project proposal, which did indeed specify that she planned to build a homemade miniature cannon and the second featured the signature of her teacher verifying that he approved her project for the fair.

“Pleeeease!” Rose begged, wrapping her arms around him and bouncing a bit. “I want to be a cool kid and then people will like me better. Everyone likes a cool friend that builds cannons, right? Because that’s seriously awesome science!”

It had been on the tip of his tongue to tell her that they should really find a better project, one that would meet Mycroft’s approval, and then she mentioned her desire to be cool. His poor Rose, so misunderstood by her classmates. She might be much smarter than they were, which undoubtedly stung when they were older than she was, but Rose had such a bubbly and fun personality that it should, in theory, have smoothed things over with her classmates. It hadn’t, and she’d been a bit on the outskirts of the school’s social calendar because of it. A cannon would go quite a long way towards impressing those dunderheads, though why Rose wanted them to be her friend- or at least like her- so much Sherlock really didn’t understand. It just might, in fact, make her irresistible, and cut the number of bullying instances she experienced.

“There will be rules,” Sherlock began. He was quickly cut off by Rose’s exuberant display of excitement.

“YAY! Yay Sherlock, yay, yay, you’re the most fun brother in the history of the world!” Rose squealed. She let go of him long enough to bounce around several times while yelling in triumph before throwing herself at him and holding on tightly.

“Are you done shouting now?” he asked, easily picking her up and kissing her cheek.

Rose kissed his cheek in response and nodded.

“There’s going to be rules if we do this and you have to agree to each and every one of them. If you break any of them at all, we’re done and you won’t have a project for the science fair,” Sherlock warned. “You will do everything exactly as we build this and under no circumstances are you to load and fire it yourself. Additionally, we will create a loud boom, but there will be no projectiles. We don’t want to injure people. I’m going to volunteer for your fair and you will keep your hands off the gunpowder unless I am there with you at your table. And most importantly of all…” Sherlock took a deep breath before finishing. “Don’t tell Mycroft.”

That last requirement gave Rose pause, a thoughtful look settling on her face as she contemplated that particular rule. Not tell Mycroft? “Are we doing something bad?” she whispered, her eyes growing wide.

“In general I think most people would consider creating your own cannon to be a bit not good. But it’s for a very good cause and we’ll be very safe. I’ll keep us safe, and it’s for science.”

Rose still wasn’t entirely convinced that keeping something from Mycroft was the best choice to make. “Sherlock, what if he _asks_ me? I don’t want to lie!”

Sherlock chuckled and kissed her nose. “I hardly think Mycroft is going to say ‘Rose, are you by any chance building a cannon?’ However, if he should happen to, you may tell the truth.”

“Then I accept your conditions,” she agreed. “This is gonna be brilliant! But we should eat ice cream first, because we need sugar for energy to make a cannon.”

“Why not?” Sherlock shrugged. “Ice cream it is. Four scoops?”

“Nope, five,” the little girl countered.

“Four and chocolate sauce or five without it. I have to pretend to have _some_ rules you know,” Sherlock explaining, giving her a wink.

“You’re holding the chocolate sauce hostage? That’s a criminal offense of the highest order. Pull yourself together man!” Rose chided playfully.

“I’ll pull you together in a minute,” he growled, tossing her up in the air. Sherlock easily caught her, smiling as she squealed in delight.

“What are you two so excited about?” Mycroft asked, coming into the kitchen and dining area in search of tea.

“Ice cream. Ice cream is very exciting,” Rose explained. “Very exciting and very serious business.”

“Two scoops and a reasonable amount of chocolate sauce,” Mycroft responded, giving them a firm look. “And I mean reasonable for the average human being, not the Rose version of reasonable amounts which is one-fourth of the bottle.”

“BOO!” Sherlock and Rose cried out in unison. “Boo on reasonable!”

Mycroft merely rolled his eyes at them and retreated to the sanctuary of his study with his tea, hoping they would listen for once and not necessarily wanting to know if they didn’t.

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Over the next week Sherlock and Rose worked on constructing a baby sized cannon from wood and a PVC pipe in whatever snatches of time they could manage to find that were Mycroft-free. Any lingering doubts Sherlock had about them getting away with this project or its potential pitfalls fell away in the excitement of teaching Rose about all the different physical elements and scientific concepts that had shaped the history of cannons in warfare. She was so bright and eager, always ready to get her hands dirty or listen to careful instructions and pepper him with questions. It was a joy doing such a project with her, even if it did not serve to make her popular with her idiotic classmates. And, as an additional bonus, for the first time perhaps in his whole life, Sherlock was going to get something over on Mycroft. That was an exciting thought indeed!

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The Friday of the science fair finally arrived! Rose was so excited about it that Sherlock was glad Mycroft had left for work in the wee hours of the morning. The way she was carrying on right now they would never have got out the door with the cannon!

“It’s going to be so brilliant and amazing Sherlock! I can’t wait to show everybody what we made. We made a _cannon_!” Rose squealed. She promptly began bouncing around the kitchen as Sherlock dodged her while trying to butter some toast, her pigtails flying about as she jumped.

“We did build a cannon,” Sherlock confirmed with a smile. “What’s the plan for today? Do you remember?”

Rose nodded, bouncing over to the table to eat her toast. “Of course I remember. It’s a very important plan for safety,” she replied. “I can’t fire the cannon by myself, or load it by myself, so if you aren’t there I shouldn’t even _think_ about doing anything with it. Also, I can’t put projectiles in it, which I think is very sad and I’m sorry I agreed to that part, because there are some people I would like to launch baby cannon balls at. Except we don’t have any.” The little girl sighed sadly.

“No, we don’t have any and please don’t create any makeshift ones or put marbles in it or anything else that might be shot at someone and potentially cause harm. If we hurt people, Mycroft will find out and then all our fun will be over,” Sherlock reminded her. Not to mention their days of sitting! “So let’s get the mighty Holmes cannon in and out with no trouble. Agreed?”

Rose nodded and gave him a salute. This was going to be the best day ever!

\------------------------------------------

The gymnasium of Rose’s elite and expensive school was overflowing with people. Students, teachers, parents, volunteers and even a few members of the school’s board of governors were milling about as projects and presentation boards were being set up on a multitude of tables packed into the room. Each was labeled with the name of a student and Sherlock, carrying the cannon in a large bag, searched for Rose’s name.

“There I am,” Rose suddenly said, pointing at a table. “Aw, that boy’s got projectiles beside me.” She gave Sherlock a bit of a pout after spotting the neighboring table, its miniature catapult and small balls of what one would assume was a melon.

“He might have projectiles, and in effective ones at that, but yours goes _boom_ ,” Sherlock reminded her. “Boom is much more important than firing melon balls at people isn’t it? No one will pay any attention to that all after they see yours.” He smiled proudly at her before approaching the table and unloading the cannon.

“What’s that?!” the catapult owner asked, abandoning his own table to come look at Rose’s.

“What do you mean what is it?” Sherlock asked, frowning down at the boy. “It’s a cannon. Isn’t that fairly obvious?”

“Oh,” the boy said. “Does it have cannon balls?”

Rose shook her head sadly. “Not allowed. But it goes boom and has gunpowder and everything.”

“Whoa, really?” The boy began to look absurdly excited. This was way cooler than a catapult! “I bet you’re going to win and everyone is going to be very impressed. I’m Adam, by the way.” The boy was a few years older than Rose and was rather impressed that someone so young would come up with such a project. “Did you make it? Or did you buy it?” he asked conspiratorially.

“I’m Rose, and buying it is cheating,” Rose chided with a frown. “You’re only allowed to work on your project yourself with a friend or family member. My brother and I built it and I learned all sorts of things about the history of weaponry and the science of firepower. Did you know the American Civil War is considered the first modern war and its armaments changed warfare from that point forward?”

Sherlock smiled to himself as he set out the supplies for the cannon, namely the matches and gunpowder, feeling quite proud that Rose had not only had fun learning such things from him, but had absorbed it like a sponge. She had always been that way, but it never stopped being enjoyable to watch.

“Oh look, the judges are starting to come around!” Rose exclaimed, interrupting his reverie. She indicated the group of teachers and school governors that were making their way from table to table. They stopped to ask questions of those with particularly interesting projects only and passing by projects that lacked the elements that would make it eligible for the prize.

Sherlock looked in the direction she indicated and rather than see the teachers, he spotted a large poster board that sported a very egregious scientific error. “What is that girl thinking?” he murmured, debating for several seconds about going over to correct the student, who appeared to be among the oldest of the school’s age range. Really, cross pollination was not that difficult a concept! “I’ll be right back,” he told Rose. Before she could say a word, he disappeared into the crowd.

As Sherlock began to engage in a debate with an eleven-year-old over her project, and the girl’s indignant parent who took offense to Sherlock’s criticism, the judges were steadily making their way towards Rose.

Sherlock would come back in time, surely, Rose thought to herself. But what if he didn’t? She couldn’t even see him in the crowd, her small stature a considerable disadvantage just then. She promised she wouldn’t set off her cannon without him, it was a rule! “Hurry up Sherlock,” she muttered to herself as the minutes ticked by. Ten… fifteen… eighteen…

“Hello Rose,” the school’s newest administrator greeted the girl. “We’re here to see your project. Can you tell us about it?”

Rose turned to face the judges, smiling brightly while on the inside her stomach was filling with butterflies. Where was Sherlock? She was going to kick his shin hard when she saw him next!

“Good lord is that a bomb?” one of the judges asked, looking quite worried.

“Oh no sir! It’s a miniature cannon. Cannons are very important in warfare and have had a major influence on how we conduct war even today,” Rose explained, launching into an explanation of the things she had learned while making her cannon.

“Is it safe? Does it work?” A few judges asked.

“Rose, did you have permission for a cannon?” the administrator asked, giving the girl a serious look.

“Oh, yes ma’am, from Mr. Macleod,” Rose assured the woman. “Um, I can demonstrate my cannon if you like. It will merely go off, not send any mini cannon balls or anything, because that would be unsafe.”

One of the judges gave her a puzzled look. Mini cannon balls unsafe, cannon itself safe? What a strange little child! And what parent let their child make a project like this?!

“Yes, please do give us a demonstration,” one of the school board members encouraged. “I’m quite impressed with this.”

Rose beamed and began loading the cannon, trying to be careful but brimming with both excitement and anxiety. She mentally justified the breaking of Sherlock’s rules since Sherlock had wandered away from her and really, that wasn’t her fault. Surely he wouldn’t be angry about it! In her haste to capitalize on the good impression she had made thus far with the judges, Rose spilled a bit of gunpowder on the table and quite a bit more went into the cannon than probably should have. Lighting a match she lit the cannon….

A deafening _boom_ was heard across the gymnasium and Sherlock began racing in the direction of Rose’s table. The sprinkler system activated, beginning to soak everyone in the gym. Shoving people out of the way, Sherlock finally made it to where Rose’s table was… Or rather _had_ been. A haze of smoke and gunpowder hung in the immediate area of the table, which had collapsed from the explosion, and began drifting out of the gym as the nearby windows were shattered, glass everywhere. Somehow a small fire had started, which served to activate the sprinkler system in addition to the smoke from the one-time cannon that was now blown to pieces. Adults and children in surrounding area of the table got up from the floor and backed away while two of the school board’s governors allowed the sprinklers to finish putting out the fire they had been beating with their suit jackets. And there, sitting among the glass from the window behind her, covered in dust and grime, and bleeding was Rose, looking a bit dazed and chanting “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over again.

Sherlock went straight to her side and ascertained that the bleeding was from minor cuts caused by the shattered glass and lifted her up from the glass, moving her away from the chaos as the gymnasium was evacuated.

Rather than seek a cuddle and comfort from her brother, however, a look of anger settled on Rose’s face, not unlike Mycroft’s look when he was at his angriest. “YOU LEFT ME!” she screamed at him. “AND NOW I BROKE THE SCHOOL!” Rose pulled her arm back and slugged him in the arm, as hard as she could, before collapsing in his arms and giving in to the shock. Her body trembled and tears began sliding down her face, allowing Sherlock to wrap her up in his strong arms and carry her from the building.

\-----------------------------------------------

As the school was evacuated and 999 was inundated with calls about a bomb at the school, the eldest Holmes was sitting in Whitehall looking anything but pleased and it had nothing to do with the mass chaos he had yet to learn his siblings had caused. Mycroft had a migraine the size of the United States, caused by that very nation and several others whose representatives were seated in the room around the large conference table. Any second now, two military advisors were going to come to blows if he didn’t step in. The two men had been screaming at one another for the past two minutes and he’d had enough of it.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, let’s maintain some decorum, if you please. We are discussing the potential cooperation of our countries in an area of the world in dire unrest. We will remain calm, cool our tempers, and work towards a suitable agreement that will enable us to discuss strategy,” Mycroft interrupted, calling the unruly group back to order.

“Please do keep in mind I said strategy, rather than weaponry. Thus far in the history of the region in question, throwing guns and other advanced weaponry at it and crossing our fingers that any sort of stable democratic government will emerge from the haze of gunpowder has wrought only unmitigated failure. We, gentlemen, must be smarter than those who came before us and be strategy orientated, rather than limit the possible outcomes of this discussion to armed forces.” Mycroft gave a significant look to a few of the representatives in particular. Sometimes it felt as though he played at being the parent of the free world, urging it to learn from past mistakes, widen its horizons, mind its manners, and play nicely.

As discussion resumed, Mycroft saw the intercom light up for the seventh time in the past hour. Benchley was his most competent PA to date and knew that she would know better than to try and interrupt him during a meeting of this magnitude. The fact that Benchley was trying very hard to reach him meant one of three possibilities: Her Majesty was calling, there was a call from either home or Rose’s school, or someone had died. Though his curiosity was aroused by Benchley’s insistence, none of those calls were important enough to excuse himself from the meeting. Sherlock was available if it was a problem with Rose, he couldn’t revive someone who was already well and truly dead, and the Queen would understand. Anything short of terrorism or a declaration of war would have to wait.

\----------------------------------------------

“Damn it Mycroft answer!” Sherlock growled at his mobile. He had tried Mycroft ten times now, and talked to Benchley four times, and Mycroft had ignored all their attempts to reach him. That became the least of his problems, however, when news reporters began arriving on the scene and a member of the board of governors escorted a responding officer over to where he stood with Rose.

“It was her, her project. She brought a bomb into this school and caused serious property damage. I want her arrested,” the woman, a Mrs. Burling ordered. She was bound and determined to see this troublemaking little girl properly punished for causing such damage to the school, both in building and potentially in reputation. If she wasn’t arrested, or similarly dealt with in an appropriate manner, the school would be force to take responsibility for the incident and she was not having that.

“It was cannon, not a bomb, and it was an approved project by her own teacher! I have the proof with me,” Sherlock said.

“He most certainly did not authorize a cannon with _gunpowder_!” Mrs. Burling shot back.

Sherlock scowled darkly at her. “And exactly what sort of canon _doesn’t_ utilize gunpowder? What idiot approves a cannon without realizing there would be gunpowder involved? It’s hardly _our_ fault that you employ dunderheads!”

“Ma’am,” the recently minted officer spoke up. “If it’s true that her project caused the explosion, no matter what sort of misunderstanding may have occurred, I cannot arrest her.”

“And just why not?” the woman demanded, hands on her hips. She rewarded the officer’s words with a glare that made the young man distinctly uncomfortable.

“We cannot arrest children under the age of ten ma’am,” Officer Elbury explained. “It’s the law.”

“Aren’t there exceptions for extenuating circumstances? I think this is an occasion should fall under any sort of exceptions to this law, or every child will start bringing bombs--”

“Cannons!” Sherlock interrupted.

“—to school with them,” Mrs. Burling continued on. “Is that really the sort of impression you want to give the young people of this country, Officer?”

Feeling as though he had no choice, and unable to argue sufficiently against the logic of the woman’s points, Elbury acquiesced. “I’ll handle it ma’am. If you could give me some space, I need to read the child her rights.”

Smirking rather evilly, Mrs. Burling stalked away, leaving a furious Sherlock and terrified Rose in her wake.

“I don’t want to go to jail,” Rose whimpered, clinging to Sherlock. “Don’t let them take me, Sherlock, I don’t want to go! It was an accident!”

Elbury knelt down on one knee in front of the little girl. “My name is Arthur, what’s yours?”

“Rose,” she said softly, beginning to sniffle. “I’m not bad, I’m really not.”

“I’m sure you’re not sweetheart,” Elbury admitted. “But we do have a mess we need to sort out here, don’t we? I’m sure you didn’t do this on purpose, but we need to try and fix this the best we can.”

“You’re not arresting her, that’s illegal and you’ll lose your badge over it,” Sherlock warned the officer.

“And you are?”

“Her brother. One of her brothers.” Elbury nodded, still looking up at Sherlock “I’m not going to arrest her, no matter what that woman wants, because it is, as you said, illegal. But I think it’s important that we go to the Met and get this sorted out. Then that woman will be satisfied, thinking I’ve done as she asked.” He looked at Rose once more. “Can we do that? I won’t arrest you, you aren’t going to jail,” Elbury assured her. “But will you come in and tell me what happened?”

Rose nodded, earning a smile from the officer. “Good girl,” he praised.

“There are reporters here,” Sherlock spoke up. “I don’t them to see her, so I’m going to wrap her up in my coat and carry her to your vehicle.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement.

“Of course,” Elbury nodded. “Would either of your parents happen to be around? I’m not certain we’ll be allowed to release her to a brother. Not that we’re detaining her, but a child involved in something like this is typically released to a parent or guardian, because it’s a traumatic event and she’ll have to give a statement.”

Sherlock sighed heavily. “Our mother is presently out of the country,” he explained, wrapping Rose up snuggly in his coat. “Our eldest brother has legal guardianship of her in our mother’s absence.” Scooping Rose up in his arms, he hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek. “It’ll be alright Rosie, I promise. Keep your face against my shoulder, alright?” When Rose did so, he looked at the officer and gestured for him to lead the way to the police vehicle.

\--------------------------------------------

Ninety minutes after Sherlock and Rose departed for the Met, Mycroft’s meeting finally ended. He could hardly wait to get away from these people and have a cup of tea before the next crisis arose. Sadly, he would not get that opportunity.

“Sir! Sir, you need to get to the Met straight away!” Benchley exclaimed upon catching sight of her boss. “There was some sort of explosion at Rose’s school--”

His heart stopped beating, he was sure of it.

“She’s alright, but she had to give a statement at the Met and they won’t release her to Sherlock since you hold guardianship,” Benchley continued.

Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief at the words that Rose was alright. He was then filled with incredible anger that someone would dare to set off a bomb in a school in _his_ country. Someone was going to pay! Then, just as he was about to start issuing orders, the mention of giving statements finally sunk in.

“Give a statement?” he asked.

Benchley nodded. “Yes sir. I don’t quite know how to tell you this so I’ll just say it: Rose’s science fair project was what exploded.”

Inwardly, Mycroft moaned, all too able to imagine what project she might have come up with that had the potential to explode.

“There are also news people at the scene and one of the school’s governors has been essentially screaming Rose’s name at them,” Benchley said. “Sherlock managed to keep Rose from being seen by the press, as far as I can tell but--”

“Which governor?” Mycroft asked, cutting her off.

“Burling, sir. Bethann Burling.”

“Benchley, activate the emergency protocols for Rose’s identity,” Mycroft instructed. He had a set of precautions and procedures ready and waiting to prevent the greater world from knowing he had a sister, information that could put Rose in grave danger should it fall into the wrong hands. And there were a great many sets of wrong hands that would love to find his one and only weak spot.

“Already did sir,” Benchley assured him. Every possible record of Rose had been changed to reflect a new identity: name, address, name of parents, contact information had all been altered. Holmes wasn’t an unusual surname and Rose, in and of itself, wasn’t an unusual first name either. Rosenwyn Aramantha Holmes had become Rose Amanda Holmes and would remain under that name until the matter ceased to be of interest to the public.

“Thank you,” Mycroft said sincerely. “Now, this Burling woman--”

“Contact info and vital information,” Benchley interrupted, holding out a folder for him to take. “I thought you might wish to deal with her personally, sir.”

“Good work Benchley,” Mycroft replied. “Reschedule the remainder of the meetings I have today and contact me only if there is an elevated level of threat.” Retrieving his mobile from an inner pocket of his suit jacket, Mycroft flipped open the folder and made a call…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How much trouble will/should Sherlock and Rose get into? What will Mycroft say to Mrs. Burling? Stay tuned!


	26. The Science of Weaponry Part 2

“Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Burling?”

“Yes… Who is this?”

“Mycroft Holmes.” He smirked at the intake of breath when she heard his name. Apparently his reputation proceeded him; excellent.

“I know precisely why you are calling and under no circumstances will I or the school’s board of governors let that menace of yours back in the school. As soon as the chaos dies down, we’re officially expelling her,” the woman said.

He could tell she was trying to get the upper hand in the conversation but that, of course, was not going to happen. “Oh good heavens, you believe I’m calling you to plead for leniency? Isn’t that amusing! How very naïve of you Mrs. Burling.”

There was a brief pause before she responded. “I am not naïve and if you are not calling, on my personal number no less which is a breach of common decency, to plead for her continued enrollment than why are you calling?”

“You will find, Mrs. Burling, that by the end of the day the paperwork to withdraw Rose from the school will be awaiting you and the other governors but that is neither here nor there,” Mycroft replied in a clipped tone. “I do, however, take offense to the fact that you dare to accuse me of lacking common decency. I’m well aware of the fact that you have screamed my sister’s name at everyone with a microphone for the last hour or so, and isn’t that rather a case of, as they say, the pot calling the kettle black?” He smiled at the long pause and continued on when it seemed she could not find anything to say just yet.

“In any case, I am calling to give you a friendly warning, Mrs. Burling. If you do not wish to destroy the entire reputation of yourself and the school, you will shut that overly large and obnoxious mouth of yours and listen to the reasons why,” Mycroft ordered in a tone that would brook no argument. “I know a great many people who send their children to your school that value its exclusivity, sterling reputation, and discretion. Mrs. Burling, you have not been very discreet this day and when it becomes apparent to other parents at the school that you are ready, willing, and clearly able to offer up information about students to the general public at your whim, I do believe they will think twice about keeping their children in your school.”

“Is that a threat? I don’t care who you are or what you know or what you do for a living, you will not threaten me!” Her voice shook, despite her attempts to keep it steady and authoritative.

“Oh no Mrs. Burling, that is not at all a threat. I’m merely making you aware of facts that your tiny little mind does not seem to have taken into account because you are so filled with anger and vengeance at a seven-year-old,” Mycroft replied, his voice icy and hard. “People value my judgment, Mrs. Burling, and when it becomes known that Rose has been withdrawn from your school, they will undoubtedly follow suit. The longer you prattle on like a mindless idiot about my sister, throwing her name at the press as if she, a paying student, means very little to you, the more damage will be done and the more students will be withdrawn within the next 48 hours. And don’t fret about my little Rose; there is no shortage of schools looking to add a budding genius with a very large fortune to their student populous.”

Mrs. Burling was filled with dread as she realized that every word he spoke was true and she could already imagine the wealthier families who appreciated discreet and private schools removing their children forthwith and taking a massive chunk of the school’s funding along with them.

“Ah, I believe my words have finally penetrated your thick skull,” Mycroft murmured with devilish delight, as though he could feel the dread coming off her in waves. “Do have fun sorting out the continued existence of your school Mrs. Burling.” He pressed the ‘end’ button on his mobile to terminate the call, rather missing the days of large telephones with cords that made such a satisfying sound when slammed down after a conversation such as this. Mobiles were a wonderful invention, but they lacked the dramatic impact at times that their ancestors possessed!

\--------------------------------------------------

“Mycroft!” Rose shouted. She hopped off the chair she was sitting on and ran towards him, throwing her arms around him and holding on tight.

“Alright, enough, enough,” he said after thirty seconds or so, removing her hands from around him. Holding her at arm’s length, Mycroft looked her up and down, noticing a few band-aids and bits of what appeared to be… “Good god, is that _gunpowder_ in your hair?”

Rose’s eyes immediately began examining her shoes. “Yes?”

“That sounded more like a question than a response,” Mycroft replied, looking at her sternly.

“Yes sir, its gunpowder,” Rose replied in a tiny voice.

Mycroft’s eyebrow quirked. A ‘yes, sir’ already, without his asking for it first? This was going to be far worse than he had anticipated. Part of him had hoped this was a simple case of a chemistry project gone horribly wrong; clearly, that was not the case. “Where’s Sherlock?”

“He went to the loo. I want to go home now Mycroft and I don’t want you to be very mad at us, ok? Please don’t be mad?” Rose looked up at him now, an imploring look on her sweet little face.

“Have you done something that will make me angry with you?” He inwardly smiled when Rose shuffled her feet a bit before nodding miserably. “Then there’s very little point in asking me not to be upset, Rose. Go back and sit down where you were and try to not to do anything naughty while I speak with the officers about taking you home,” Mycroft directed. Never had he imagined having to collect a seven-year-old from police!

Sherlock reentered the room just then and Rose scurried over to him. Picking her up, Sherlock took a seat and held her on his lap.

“I’m sorry I broke the rules Sherlock,” Rose whispered for what had to be the hundredth time.

“I know and I already said I wasn’t mad at you,” Sherlock soothed, watching as Mycroft began speaking with Officer Elbury. “It was more my fault than yours because I was too wrapped up arguing with that stupid girl and her equally stupid mother. This might not have happened had I stayed with you.” He fell silent and cuddled her close, knowing that Rose was nervous about facing Mycroft and frankly, he was also.

“A _what_?!” Mycroft asked incredulously.

“A cannon, that’s what they both said. A tiny one and I guess the little one was too excited, got a bit careless and… well… boom,” Elbury said, with a shrug. “I’ve never heard anything like it. Granted I’ve not been an officer for a particularly long time, but I don’t think I’ll ever hear something like this again.”

“At least not from those two,” Mycroft said with a sigh, indicating his siblings.

“Though she did, apparently, have permission,” Elbury added. “Her teacher signed off on the project, and then proceeded to tell me that he had no idea it would be a cannon with gunpowder.”

Mycroft frowned. “What sort of cannon doesn’t use gunpowder?” He sighed and shook his head, mentally despairing at the downfall in humanity’s intelligence. “I am free to take them home, correct?”

Elbury nodded. “Yes. Good luck with them,” he said sincerely. He had a feeling the eldest Holmes was going to need it.

\-------------------------------------------------

Sherlock and Rose stood in front of the desk in their brother’s study. The eighteen and seven-year-old respectively stood right next to one another, one larger hand holding a smaller one, their fingers intertwined in a show of support for one another. Sherlock remained rigidly still while Rose grew increasingly fidgety as minute after minute ticked slowly by.

Looking down at the small curly head beside him, catching Rose worrying her lip as was her usual habit. Sherlock felt an overwhelming amount of guilt fill his stomach. This was much more his fault than hers, and he knew without a doubt he’d happily take the blame for them both but was well aware Mycroft would never allow such a thing. They were in a world of trouble and not a single thing either of them said was going to make this any better.

Biting on her lip still, Rose looked up from the floor, which she had been studying with some intensity, at the eldest Holmes. Mycroft was sitting behind his desk, elbows on top of it, head in his hands, a posture rather indicative of either defeat or desperation. He’d been in that posture for a solid five minutes, as far as Rose could tell, but that five minutes had felt like hours. She squeezed Sherlock’s hand, hard, not wanting to say anything out loud but in need of some reassurance just the same. It was sort of comforting, up to a point, that they were in this together, Rose thought to herself, but really, she’d prefer they not be there at all.

Finally, Rose could take the silence and anxiety no longer and turned to Sherlock, pressing her face against him and began to cry. Her big brother immediately went down on one knee and hugged her to his chest.

The sound of tears forced Mycroft to take his head out of his hands. “Come here Rose,” he said, sounding and feeling tired. He opened his arms a bit for her, to signal that it was a hug and not a spanking he was summoning her too. Immediately she came to him and Mycroft picked her up, holding her in his lap.

“There’s no reason to cry so hard,” Mycroft said softly, mentally adding a _yet_ to that sentence. “It’s not as though I’m going to disown you Rose, Mother would never allow it even if I wanted to. Which I don’t,” he clarified.

“I’m very sorry!” Rose told him through her tears. She promptly pressed her face against his chest.

“I’m sure you are,” he replied sincerely, rubbing her back. “And I still love you, no matter how many ridiculous and utterly stupid things you do, today included,” Mycroft whispered in her ear. “Right know you need to dry your eyes and go stand by Sherlock again. You both have a great deal of explaining to do.” He rolled his eyes when Rose dried her face on his shirt before doing as she was told.

“I find myself at an almost complete and utter loss to comprehend what happened today. I’ve been told there was a cannon, that part of the gymnasium was damaged though rather more mildly than one might have expected,” Mycroft admitted. “But I know a cannon did not mysteriously materialize this morning in time for Rose’s science fair.”

“We made it,” Rose said quietly, holding on to Sherlock’s hand once again.

“We, as in not just Sherlock, but also you?” Mycroft clarified. He scowled darkly when she nodded. “And since when are you allowed to play with _explosives_ young lady?”

Rose’s face flushed as she bit her lip. “Mr. Macleod said I could do a cannon for my project,” she told him quietly.

“Your idiotic teacher’s permission does _not_ supersede _mine_!” Mycroft thundered.

“That part really wasn’t in our plan, the touching of explosives,” Sherlock interrupted, not wanting Rose to shoulder the blame. “I took every possible precaution to keep Rose safe and specifically forbade her from touching the explosives at any time, but… I was detained and circumstances beyond my control arose.”

An eyebrow quirked. “Every possible precaution? _Every_ possible precaution? Pray, brother mine, tell me then how Rose managed to blow up part of gymnasium when you were taking every possible precaution to ensure her safety?”

“I planned to be with Rose when the judges came to see her project and handle all explosive materials myself during the demonstration, as I did during the building. Rose was never meant to break the ‘no explosives’ rule,” Sherlock insisted.

Mycroft watched as Sherlock’s face paled a bit as he spoke, knowing Sherlock was well aware every word he said was going to be held against him when punishment was meted out, no matter what excuses he had. “You were detained?” he repeated slowly. “It must have been quite the crisis to cause you to leave our seven-year-old sister next to enough explosives to cause a medium-sized explosion. Pray tell, what was this crisis?”

Rose looked back and forth between her brothers, watching Mycroft growing angrier and Sherlock getting more nervous, which only made _her_ nervous.

“Well the whole event was really quite dull,” Sherlock blurted out in a haughty tone. “I mean, some of the entries! One little idiot decided to do a diagram on cross pollination that was utterly appalling. Horribly dull, riddled with errors, I mean really? Who mismatches eyxlopods with porixie seeds-”

Seeing that this was going nowhere fast, Mycroft rolled his eyes and decided to cut his brother off. “Sherlock, for the sake of your continued existence, let’s stay on topic. I am still waiting to hear what, in a room full of preteen children, most of whom are idiots, was so utterly captivating that any and all little common sense you may or may not possess simply fled you to the point that you left Rose. Alone. With an explosive device. Enlighten me and do it quickly!”

“I’m the one that broke the no explosives rule,” Rose pointed out loudly, trying to keep Sherlock from getting in further trouble.

“Your input at this time is not necessary Rosenwyn, as it is wholly unlikely you would have broken that rule had Sherlock bothered to stay with you,” Mycroft told her. “Now, Sherlock, I am still waiting and my patience is wearing precariously thin.”

Sherlock let out a huff. “I was bored, and there was a smug little eleven-year-old idiot that was wrong. I might have left Rose for a moment or so to correct the student’s misinformation, which was unappreciated by the idiot’s large mother who was equally stupid.”

Mycroft’s jaw dropped and he could only stare at Sherlock for several seconds before pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath. “You _left_ our little sister with a potentially deadly explosive device, who you know has the knowledge to use said device, to debate an eleven-year-old’s science project. Is that an accurate summary of your actions, Sherlock?”

His previously pale face was now burning bright red as Sherlock cleared his throat and attempted to respond. “Well… it wasn’t exactly a debate, more of--”

Mycroft slammed his hand on top of the desk. “No, Sherlock! Don’t get smart with me, I am the smart one and I stand in awe of the utter stupidity of your actions!” He paused and took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Alright, here is the tale thus far. Rose wanted to build a cannon for the science fair and you asked Sherlock because you knew I’d forbid it, correct?” Mycroft asked, turning his attention to the littlest Holmes.

“Yes, sir,” Rose replied, her face going red. “You never let me do fun things like that and Sherlock does so that’s why I asked him.”

“We've never built a cannon before!” Sherlock quickly added. “And won’t build another one ever again! I don’t _always_ let her do dangerous things.” There was no reason to get himself in further trouble at this point.

“Considering that she is still alive, I expect that statement is at least partially truthful,” Mycroft retorted. “So, the cannon is built, transported to school this morning, Sherlock became distracted by an eleven year old and then what happened?”

Seeing that her oldest brother was only getting angrier by the detail, or least appeared to be, Rose was a bit reluctant to continue on, especially as it was her own naughtiness that came next! Biting her lip, she looked down at the carpet and shuffled her feet a bit.

Mycroft’s eyebrow quirked yet again. “I’m waiting.”

“Iloadedthecannonmyselfanditexploded,” Rose blurted out, her face going red as she did so.

“Try again,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “Slow enough that I can understand.”

“I loaded the cannon myself and it exploded, because the judges were there and Sherlock hadn’t come back yet. I didn’t know where he was because I couldn’t see over the tall people. I really wanted to win Mycroft, because then I thought people would like me better. I mean, wouldn’t you like someone with a cannon?” Rose dared to look up at him.

“No, I would not like someone with a cannon, especially not _you_ with a cannon. I assume that this is why you took leave of your senses and agreed to this scheme Sherlock?”

Sherlock nodded. “I really did plan to keep her safe, keep her from the explosives. Things just went horribly wrong. I didn’t intend for any of this to happen. Neither did Rose. These were very unforeseen circumstances.”

“Of course neither of you meant for this to happen nor am I saying that you did. But you, Sherlock, are supposed to be the adult, according to your age at any rate. Allowing Rose to talk you into something like this and then leaving her _alone_ with something with the potential to explode is completely unacceptable,” Mycroft lectured. “I also don’t appreciate either of you doing this behind my back, purposely keeping it from me because you knew I would object. That is dishonesty and I won’t tolerate it under any circumstances, but especially not when safety is a concern.”

The middle Holmes could only nod, knowing now that Mycroft was right. He _hated_ it when Mycroft was right! He dreaded the thought of what sort of punishment he’d be given for something of this magnitude.

Mycroft took a deep breath, bracing himself for the unpleasant business to come. “I think it goes without saying that you both are going to be _very_ soundly spanked today. Since you misbehaved together every step of the way, it’s really only fair that you’re punished together.” He knew this would be difficult for them both; having to hear the other sibling punished, especially for Sherlock, but he hoped it would make a very memorable impression.

“No, Mycroft, no!” Sherlock immediately protested. He couldn’t imagine having to be in the same room while his sister cried, knowing his own choices had put them both in this position. “Please Mycroft, I--”

“I have made my decision and I frankly don’t want to debate the issue with you. This is not going to be a fun day for either of you, so resign yourselves to it now,” Mycroft said sternly. “Come here Rose.” He pushed his chair a bit further back from his desk and motioned her over with his hand when the little girl hesitated. “Sherlock, go put your nose in the corner.”

After giving Rose one last encouraging hug, Sherlock went to the corner as directed, his face flushing with embarrassment.

“Rose, do not keep me waiting, I’m not in the mood,” Mycroft warned. “Come here to me, _now_.” He watched as the little girl slowly made her way to his side and once she was there, he gently grasped her chin and lifted it so he could look into her eyes. “I love you very much Rosenwyn but there are rules for a reason and those rules are meant to be obeyed. You were very, very foolish and that is why you are being punished. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Rose whispered. “I’m sorry My.”

Mycroft nodded. “Over my knee now.” He helped Rose across his lap, easily moving her so that her bottom was over his right knee then lifted her uniform skirt and pulled her pants to her knees. His left arm went around her waist, ensuring she wouldn’t squirm away, and his right hand was raised in the air before landed with a heavy _smack_ across the center of Rose’s bottom. Forsaking any given pattern, Mycroft’s hand fell hard and fast, peppering her tender bum with stinging spanks, paying special attention to her sit spots and upper thighs.

“Owwwww! Ouch! Ow Mycroft! Owwwww!” Rose squealed. Her hands grabbed hold of his trousers in an attempt to keep them in front of her as Mycroft set her cheeks on fire.

 _Smack smack smack smack smack smack smack smack._ Sherlock stood in the corner, eyes closed, as if it could help to block out continual smacking sounds of Rose’s spanking. It didn’t work and he found himself feeling more and more miserable as the spanking went on. He should have said no and if he had, they wouldn’t be here now.

Mycroft kept up a steady pace with little time between spanks. It was perhaps the hardest he’d ever spanked her, with little time between each swat and more strength behind them than he’d used before.

“Owwwwiiiiieeeee! My! My stop! Stop! I’m sorry!” Rose pleaded, beginning to cry. Her bum was hot and sore and still he kept going, his hand landing over and over on her tender bum.

Her bottom was red but Mycroft knew she could take a bit more and turned his attention to the sensitive sit spots and upper thighs. As he spanked he briefly looked over in Sherlock’s direction, noting his brother’s hunched posture and rigid tension within him.

Finally Rose broke down in tears, sobbing hard and squirming for all she worth to get away from Mycroft’s heavy hand. She kicked her legs, causing a shoe to go flying off with her pants not far behind. “I’ll be good, I’ll be good!”

“I know you will, but you need to learn a good lesson right here and now over my knee,” Mycroft told her. “So that you remember to be my good girl and follow the rules. Safety is non-negotiable Rosenwyn.” Several more swats fell and then one tiny hand flew back. He paused long enough to catch it and hold onto it then rewarded her effort to interfere with a few light, but stinging swats to her upper thighs.

“Isn’t that enough Mycroft? That’s enough, she’s had enough! Stop spanking her, please!” Sherlock protested from the corner. He didn’t really think that Mycroft was actually injuring Rose by any means, but he wasn’t sure he could take hearing her cry another minute longer.

The emotions he heard in Sherlock’s voice made Mycroft pause and look over in that direction. “I’m not injuring her Sherlock and you know that,” he replied, though not unkindly. “But her spanking is over,” _for now_ he added mentally. Rose’s bum was a dark, painful red, radiating heat and her sobs had reached the point where even Mycroft couldn’t resist the urge to soothe her.

“Alright poppet, all done,” he said gently. Mycroft rubbed her back, letting her cry over his lap for a moment or so before lifting her up and hugging her as tightly as he dared. “I know that was a hard one, I know,” he murmured. “You’ll be alright, I promise poppet. Shhh, you’ll be fine and I love you very much no matter how many ridiculous things you do.” Mycroft rocked her in his arms, waiting for her tears to die down, not even saying a word as she dried her face on the shoulder of his shirt several times.

The moments he spent soothing Rose gave him time to reconsider the punishment a bit. As upset as Rose’s hand spanking had made Sherlock, it dawned on Mycroft that it would be too difficult for Rose to stand in the corner and listen to Sherlock being caned. The noise the cane made might actually frighten her, he realized, and adjusted appropriately in response to that realization.

“Alright, you’ve had a good cuddle now,” he said gently, putting Rose on her feet. “I’m not going to make you listen to Sherlock’s punishment, not this first one anyway. Instead you’re going to be in the corner in the sitting room and I’ll come get you afterwards. Your spanking isn’t done,” he warned her, planning to finish up with the hairbrush. “But for now you’re going to spend time reflecting in the corner. Come along Rose.”

“I don’t want too,” Rose whimpered, clinging to his hand as he steered her into the sitting room. “I don’t want the corner and I don’t want any more spanking, My! I want more cuddles.” She looked up at him with the saddest little look, her lower lip trembling as tears threatened to fall once more.

“I know you do and I also know you don’t want to be spanked any further, but these are the consequences of your actions,” Mycroft told her gently but firmly. “Now go stand in the corner like the good girl I know you are. If you tell me no,” he warned. “I’ll get a chair from the kitchen and you can _sit_ for your corner time.”

“No, no chair,” Rose shook her head before scurrying over to the corner. Her hands crept behind her to rub her sore bum as she began sniffling once more.

After watching for a moment or so to make certain Rose would do what she was told, Mycroft returned to his study and shut the door behind him. He was surprised to see Sherlock already bent over his desk, trousers and pants at his knees. “Well done, brother mine,” Mycroft said, pausing to pat Sherlock’s back. He was proud that Sherlock was willing to accept his punishment and seemed to realize the grave mistakes he had made.

Crossing the room to the closet, Mycroft retrieved the cane. “As I warned Rose, this is the first portion of your spanking. There will be a second portion, during which Rose will stay in the room,” he cautioned. “But considering how strongly you reacted to her spanking I didn’t want to take the chance of frightening her with the cane, which is why she is having her corner time in the sitting room.”

“There’s more?!” Sherlock exclaimed. “But I’m getting _caned_ what more could there be?” He couldn’t help flinching as Mycroft rested the cane against his bare bottom.

“After I finish Rose’s spanking, you will go over my knee and I will spank you with my hand, to emphasize the fact that you chose not to behave like an adult and put your foot down when Rose brought this whole idea to you. You are an adult in terms of the years you have been on this earth and the laws of this country, but your decision to encourage and assist Rose in breaking the rules makes a spanking across my knee seem particularly appropriate. Don’t you agree?” Without waiting for an answer, Mycroft raised the cane and brought it down sharply near the crest of his cheeks.

“Argh,” Sherlock growled in response to the stroke that caught him unprepared. He braced himself for the next one and took it without much noise at all, save the slight intake of breath as the might sting sunk in. It wasn’t until a stroke came far too close to his sit spots for comfort that Sherlock cried out again.

“Ow!” Sherlock yelped, stomping his feet on the floor. “You’re doing it harder than usual, which was already plenty hard to begin with. Stop trying to prove you’re superior to me by—OW!” His protest was cut off by a searing stroke across his sit spots. It brought tears to his eyes and forced him to take a deep breath. Before he was really ready for it the seventh stroke fell, catching his sit spots once more, followed swiftly by the next two strokes across his upper thighs. “Owww aaaaah noooooooooo!” Sherlock howled through the strokes, kicking at Mycroft’s desk in response to the pain when they were done.

“Being cheeky in the midst of a caning isn’t a wise decision, brother mine,” Mycroft reminded him sternly. “Three more Sherlock.” Though he issued the warning he gave the teenager a moment or so to compose himself then brought the cane down three more times, ensuring that Sherlock would feel this punishment when he sat down for quite some time.

Sherlock’s resolve fully broke on the final stroke. Resting his head against the top of the desk he gave into his tears and sobbed heavily, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. Then, without warning, he felt a hand on his back that began rubbing soothing circles. The last thing he ever expected as he embarrassingly cried was any sort of comfort from Mycroft and if anything, it made him cry harder.

“Your caning is over,” Mycroft said with surprising gentleness. “You can take as long as you need to compose yourself and then return to the corner please.” He continued to rub circles on his brother’s back, despite the fact that he and Sherlock weren’t much of the cuddling sort. Rose was exceptionally cuddly and where it came from they weren’t entirely certain, but the brothers had never been that way with one another.

Oh, Mycroft had soothed Sherlock here and there over the years, like when he was two and went face first into the corner of the coffee table. Mycroft had hurriedly picked him up and carried him to the kitchen to examine the small cut on his forehead while the toddler sobbed and sobbed in the most dramatic of fashions.

Then there had been that time when Sherlock was seven and came home beaten bloody by a bully and Mycroft had gently tended to his wounds before walking the three blocks to the said bully’s house and putting the fear of god in him. Being the most fearsome prefect at the school both he and Sherlock attended had had its benefits. By the time he graduated six months after that, no boy ever laid a finger on Sherlock again for the rest of his school years. He’d ensured it with threats of ‘home visits’, or dorm visits as the case may be, made while caning this bully or that. He heard once that one of the bullies had nightmares after the issuing of that threat and he’d been inordinately pleased about it.

While cuddles and soothing weren’t necessarily a part of their relationship, Mycroft was able to soothe when the occasion called for it, as it did now. They both preferred to banter and largely pretend to hate one another instead, no matter how dysfunctional people thought it might be. “It can’t be very comfortable like that,” Mycroft commented as he continued to rub Sherlock’s back.

Sherlock didn’t respond, but his curls shook as he indicated he had no desire to move just then, so Mycroft continued to rub his back slowly and gently for another moment until Sherlock started to rise. “Alright, back to the corner with you. You can pull up your pants and trousers if you wish, or not if you wish.” After squeezing Sherlock’s shoulder and leaving him to sort himself out, Mycroft exited the study to retrieve Rose.

“That is a very, very good girl,” Mycroft praised upon seeing she was still standing in the corner. “My good poppet.” He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly, her sad little face tugging at his heart strings.

“No more spanking,” Rose said in a tiny voice before pressing her face into the crook of his neck. “No more, I’m sorry My.”

Mycroft kissed the top of her head. “I know poppet, but you were exceptionally naughty and I have to respond appropriately. That naughty bottom of yours still needs to learn a bit more before we’re done.” He patted the bottom in question meaningfully.

“It’s sorry too,” she squeaked.

“Come again?” Mycroft requested.

Rose sniffled and lifted her face so he could hear her. “It’s sorry too. My bottom, it’s sorry it was naughty, and I’m sorry, and Sherlock is too. We’re all very sorry and don’t want any more spankings.”

Good lord, this child was going to be the death of him, Mycroft thought to himself. That had to be the cutest thing Rose had ever said and he wanted more than anything to give in to her, but knew he couldn’t. “Come on, let’s get the spankings finished, hm?” He scooped her up, noticing that she whined just a bit at the pressure of his arm under her bum, and carried her back into his study.

“You’re going to go over my knee again Rosenwyn, for a dozen swats with the hairbrush and then your spanking will be over,” Mycroft explained. He sat in the chair and put her face down over his lap once again before reaching for the desk drawer to retrieve the hairbrush, cringing when Rose started crying at the sight of it. He should have got it out before going to retrieve her, but he hadn’t thought about it.

“Nooooo! Don’t want that! My, please!” Rose cried, putting both hands behind her to protect her backside from the nasty brush. “I’m sorry and my bottom is sorry, no more!” Kicking and wiggling accompanied her protests, which seemed rather overly dramatic to Mycroft’s ears, who knew she had received more than that in the past.

Instead of responding to her Mycroft took her hands and moved them to the small of her back before flipping up her skirt to bare her bottom and raised the brush. He didn’t put much force behind the swats, aiming for sting more than anything, snapping it down across her sit spots, one to each side.

“Owwwieeee!” Rose sobbed. “Ow!” She shifted her hips and kicked her feet, trying to move her sore bum out of the way. The hairbrush still found it every time, despite her best efforts, and soon her sit spots, upper thighs, and her cheeks sported stinging bright red ovals.

By the time the dozen mild swats were over, though Mycroft knew she did not think they were mild, Rose was sobbing hard. Despite his best efforts to remain stern, her tears went straight to his heart. Immediately he turned her over in his lap to cuddle her close and, before he could stop himself, he began to rub some of the sting from her bottom. “Shhh, it’s all over now poppet. No more spanking, it’s all over. You were such a brave girl,” he murmured. “I’m very proud of you Rose. Such a very good girl.”

“Promise?” Rose asked, looking up at him with a tear streaked face after a few minutes had passed. “No more spanking? And I’m good again?”

“No more spanking,” Mycroft confirmed, hugging her tightly. “And you are _always_ a good girl. It’s your choices or behavior that are naughty, not you. My poppet is a good girl. Are you calmed down now? It’s Sherlock’s turn to have his spanking be done and I want you to go stand in the corner where he is now. Can you do that for me?”

“Does Sherlock have to have more spanking too?” Rose asked, looking sad on Sherlock’s behalf. When Mycroft nodded firmly and set her on her feet, Rose ran over to her brother and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry you got in trouble too,” she told Sherlock.

“No, it’s not your fault,” Sherlock assured her, stroking her curls with one hand while he rubbed her arm with the other. “Don’t worry about it, alright? We were both at fault, not just you.”

Mycroft allowed them a moment to cuddle together before calling Sherlock back over. “Over my knee,” he instructed Sherlock, only to receive a scandalized look in reply.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock hissed. “I’m not a child and I’m not going over your knee. That’s ridiculous.”

“You may be a legal adult based on the laws of this country and the number of years you’ve been on this earth, but your actions were not those of an adult and so I find this to be a very fitting way to end your punishment. Trousers and pants down and over my lap now or you can bend over the desk for the hairbrush instead,” Mycroft warned.

The two brothers stared at each other for a moment as Sherlock weighed his options. Ultimately he chose to go over Mycroft’s knee, preferring the hand to the hairbrush, and pushed his clothing down once more. Bending across Mycroft’s lap was rather awkward and Sherlock scowled when he realized how easily his brother could still move him to where his bottom was in a more vulnerable position for spanking. “How many?” he finally asked, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. He had never been spanked over cane stripes before!

“Two dozen ought to do it,” Mycroft decided. “Keep your hands in front of you.” He raised his hand, mentally noting that his arm was going to be quite sore when he finished, and brought it down hard across the center of Sherlock’s bottom.

Gasping at the sting and already feeling tears in his eyes, Sherlock couldn’t help but squirm in response. “Ow! Ow! Argh, Mycroft!” he yelped and grunted as the spanking got under way. It wasn’t long before he too broke down in tears, finding that a hand spanking on top of cane stripes was very painful indeed.

A loud sob suddenly grabbed their attention and Mycroft paused the spanking briefly to look over at Rose. She was still in the corner, crying because her beloved big brother was crying. “Don’t spank him anymore!” she called out. “It was all my fault, I broke the school, and I broke the rules, all my fault!” When it became clear that no one was listening to her and the spanking was resumed, Rose promptly kicked the wall and then yelped in pain. “Ow, ow, my toes hurt owie!”

“Yes, that tends to be what happens when you kick the wall. You are seven, not two, and we don’t kick walls Rosenwyn,” Mycroft scolded. He could hear Sherlock chuckle a bit even through his tears.

“Make it better My!”

“I’m rather busy at the mo--” Mycroft paused as something occurred to him. “Causing yourself injury in an attempt to get me to tend those injuries will _not_ make me stop spanking Sherlock. If that is your plan, you will cease and desist immediately.” He smirked a bit when Rose stood up straight in the corner and went quiet, aside from her sniffles.

“Alright, halfway there,” Mycroft told Sherlock. Wanting to get it over with quickly, he peppered Sherlock’s bottom with swats, avoiding the more sensitive sit spots and upper thighs, wringing a bit more crying out of Sherlock before it was over. “Alright, we’re done,” he told Sherlock, patting his brother’s back a bit. “You can get up when--” Before Mycroft could even finish his sentence, Rose ran towards them, throwing her arms around him.

“This is very awkward,” Sherlock muttered. He appreciated Rose’s efforts to soothe him, but he was still half naked over Mycroft’s lap, which wasn’t the best cuddle position the world had ever known.

“Rosenwyn Aramantha are you trying to get another spanking? You know exactly how corner time works; get your bottom back in that corner or it’ll go back over my knee!”

It was an idle threat but Rose didn’t know that and hurried back to the corner. “I just wanted to cuddle Sherlock, because he’s very sad!”

“And I just want you to obey because I am very exhausted,” Mycroft responded. He sighed heavily before helping Sherlock up from his lap, giving his brother a moment to right his clothing before releasing the woeful little prisoner from the corner.

Rose made a beeline for Sherlock, who knelt down to catch her. “No more sorries,” Sherlock told her in a firm but gentle tone. “There’s no more sorries from either of us, alright? We had our spankings from mean, mean Mycroft and now it’s all over.”

“Well, not quite,” Mycroft interrupted. Two identical horrified looks were thrown in his direction. “Both of you go upstairs and put your pajamas on then report to the kitchen. You’re going to write lines, sitting on those sore bottoms of yours. If you don’t put up a fuss, I’ll let you both have pillows for your chairs.”

Sherlock and Rose immediately fell silent and scurried from the study to find their pajamas.

\--------------------------------------------

Two hours of squirming and groaning in discomfort later, Sherlock was finished with his lines. While he would normally never deign to write lines for Mycroft, he had chosen to be a good role model for Rose and do it with a minimal amount of fuss, not wanting either of them to get swatted for getting up from their chairs or being uncooperative.

Rose, quite predictably, fell asleep thirty minutes into her line writing. She had a habit of falling asleep after a sound spanking and a good cry but Mycroft let her sit in the chair and sleep until Sherlock finished his lines. It wouldn’t hurt her to sleep that way for a while and he wasn’t going to give her an out while Sherlock had to sit on his caned bum. He had no doubt that Rose’s bottom was still quite sore as well, having watched her make little whining noises every so often and squirm a bit in the chair while she slept.

Sherlock pushed the notebook and pencil towards Mycroft and tried to shake the cramps from his hand.

“Your penmanship is deplorable as always,” Mycroft commented after looking at Sherlock’s lines. “But you’re finished.” He couldn’t help but smirk a bit as Sherlock shot out of the chair. “I appreciate you being cooperative,” he said sincerely, referencing the line writing.

Shrugging, Sherlock looked at his sleeping sister and sighed. “All worn out, it’s been a hard day,” he murmured. “Are you going to tuck her in bed or am I?”

“You can if you’d like,” Mycroft offered. He smiled when Sherlock nodded and gently retrieved Rose from her chair, waking her a bit in the process.

“Didn’t get up,” she murmured without opening her eyes.

“No, you didn’t,” Sherlock confirmed with a chuckle. “You didn’t stay awake though either. Mycroft should have known better, you’re always very sleepy after a spanking.” He pressed a kiss to her head, smiling as she snuggled closer.

Entering her room Sherlock pulled back the duvet and laid her down on her tummy. “Let’s get you tucked in tight, hm?”

“No,” Rose replied, her eyes opening for a brief second.

“No?” Sherlock repeated. “What’s no?”

“You.”

That was an unhelpful answer if he ever heard one. “I’m no?”

Rose nodded, the movement jostling her curls, but said nothing else.

Luckily for her, Sherlock knew his baby sister very well and it didn’t take him more than a few seconds after her nod to figure out what she wanted. Moving her over a bit in the bed, Sherlock stretched out on his stomach before pulling the duvet over them both and wrapping an arm around Rose. “Yes?” he asked.

She nodded again and snuggled as close as she possibly could. “Love you,” Rose murmured.

Sherlock kissed her cheek. “I love you too,” he said softly, beginning to rub her back. “But no more cannons. Ever.”

“No cannons,” she agreed. “Or kicking walls.”

“That too,” Sherlock chuckled. Once he was certain Rose was asleep, he closed his eyes and followed suit, putting an early end to a very a long day.

 


	27. Epilogue: The Science of Cute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration struck me for a little bit of an epilogue to The Science of Weaponry story. Enjoy! And not to worry, there's more Rose Blooms on its way soon! :)

It had been some time since Sherlock had carried Rose up to her room. Mycroft knew that it was likely the two were both asleep, snuggled together in one of their beds as had become their habit. Rose was what Mother called a ‘cuddlebug’ and it was an apt moniker, even if it wasn’t actually a word. The littlest Holmes craved cuddles and smiles, soft looks and fingers run through her hair combined with soothing words. Her need for such gentle ministrations and physical contact was never more evident than post-spanking. In fact, Mycroft couldn’t remember a time when Rose hadn’t cried herself out, had her cuddle and promptly fall asleep. That was just her way and, well, it was sort of adorable. Alright, maybe it was _particularly_ adorable but he would never admit that, even under torture.

As much as he hated to disturb her slumber, he couldn’t let her sleep the day away and it was getting to be supper time. While Sherlock was free to eat or not at his own discretion, Rose was required to eat three good meals a day. With the need to wake her in mind, Mycroft went up the steps to the second floor and peeked into her room. Sure enough, there were his siblings, sound asleep. Even in his sleep Sherlock held onto Rose protectively with one arm, little partners in crime that they were.

Crossing the room, Mycroft went to bed and for a moment couldn’t help standing there and watching them. Well, not watch Sherlock, but watch Rose. Her curls, abundant and wild like Sherlock’s, were sticking out every which way, her sweet little face looking so angelic in sleep. Which was about the only time her face, or anything else about her, was angelic it often seemed. Unable to help himself, Mycroft carefully leaned over Sherlock, making certain not to jostle him, and pressed a soft kiss to Rose’s slightly chubby little cheek.

“Don’t you dare kiss my head,” Sherlock spoke suddenly. “Unless you want me to hit you.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and stood up, giving his brother a _look_. “Not sore enough, are we brother?”

Sherlock scowled darkly at him and opened his mouth to say something when Mycroft raised his hand in a gesture of silence. “Don’t wake the baby with angry words,” he ordered.

Moving ever so carefully, Sherlock took his arm from around Rose and began to slide out of bed, completely unsurprised when she made a murmur of protest. The murmur was followed by an adorably tiny “Nooooo,” the vowels drawn out in a sleepy tone.

The eldest Holmes took Sherlock’s vacated spot on the bed and gently rubbed her back. “It’s time to wake up Rose and have some supper. If you sleep any longer you’ll be up at three or four in the morning and that’s much too early for little girls to be out of bed.”

Rose opened her eyes and shifted over closer to him before somehow attaching herself to his person, leaving Mycroft little choice but to wrap his arms around her. Not that it was much of a trial. “Can I come down in my pajamas? I don’t want to put real clothes on.”

Mycroft chuckled. “I suppose I can bend the rules just this once.” He really didn’t think it was decent to eat a meal at the table in pajamas, but wasn’t entirely certain he could resist her pleas just then.

“’kay.” Rose made no effort to move, continuing to hold onto him. She smiled when Mycroft stood up with her in his arms, sighing heavily.

“You think just because some people consider you cute that you may do as you wish, hm? And have others do your bidding?” He rolled his eyes just a bit when she nodded. “Demanding little thing,” he chided gently as he carried her from the room.

“Horrid, mean old Mycroft,” Rose replied, even as she nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck. “Can we eat in the sitting room so I can lay on the couch on my tummy?”

“Absolutely not! We are not heathens, Rosenwyn Holmes. We will eat at the table like civilized human beings. If you ask me very nicely I will let you have a pillow, but only if you ask nicely,” he warned.

“My, may I please have a pillow so I can eat supper at the table and not be a heathen?” Rose asked, echoing his words back to him.

“Hmm, no,” Mycroft replied, shaking his head. “I think not this time.”

Rose looked positively stricken and gazed up at him with very sad little eyes. “But My! I asked nicely and everything!”

“You asked very nicely indeed. But just before you asked nicely you called me horrid, mean and old,” he pointed out.

“Oh I never mean that when I say it,” Rose told him with a huff. “And you know!”

“Do I? I’m not sure I do.” They were entering the kitchen where Sherlock was setting the table without even being asked. _Will wonders never cease_ , Mycroft thought to himself. Suddenly he was attacked—by a very loud and wet kiss on the cheek and half choked by overly enthusiastic tiny arms trying to hug him.

“You’re going to kill him,” Sherlock snickered. “But that has my approval so keep going.”

Rose drew back from Mycroft a bit, only to rest her forehead against his. “I love you, you old Mycroft,” she whispered.

Mycroft turned his head just slightly so he could whisper in her ear. “And I love you, poppet.” He then set her down on her feet. “Run and get pillows for you and Sherlock both.”

“Yay! My bum will be very happy!” Rose squealed as she ran back to the sitting room with a bright smile on her face.

Oh yes, Mycroft thought to himself as he watched her. That little girl was going to be the very death of him, if not from mischief than by a sheer overload of cute.

 


	28. An Adventure in Italy Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story begins just a few days after Rose disappeared, leaving behind the note for Mycroft in “Caring Is Not An Advantage” (chapter 7).

Everyone had warned her against taking this job. He’ll work you half to death; he’s exacting and the work never really stops; say goodbye to holidays and any semblance of a stress free life. If rumors were true, she had just been hired by the most dangerous and powerful man in the British government. Anthea relished the opportunity for her intelligence to be challenged, to learn the inner workings of what really went on in the government of her country. Many had come before her, failed, and been discharged, but she would not be one of them.

What Anthea had not expected on her first day working for Mycroft Holmes was what she discovered upon entering his office. Rather than appearing to be fully in control of all around him, she found a tired and troubled man, his head in his hands. He was the physical embodiment of someone with the world on their shoulders if ever there was one.

“Sir, I have the reports you requested yesterday,” Anthea said quietly. “Benchley alerted me to the request before taking her leave.” Crossing the room, she placed the folder on top of his desk and stood there, slowly looking her boss up and down, digesting every iota of information about him. “Is there something you’d like me to do for you sir? Your first appointment is at noon and Her Majesty has requested you to come for tea at 4:30.”

Taking a deep breath, Mycroft sat up and schooled his features so as to offer a persona of calm control. He gave her an appraising look before pushing a folder in her direction. “This cannot go further than this room without my express authorization,” he began. “I need you to find someone. Hack Interpol, run every facial recognition software you can think of, and gain access to every camera you can find in Vienna.”

Anthea opened the folder and examined the photo of a young girl. Her blue eyes were bright and she smiled prettily, her face framed by long, dark curls. The paperwork was headed with the name Rosenwyn Holmes. “I’ll get started right away sir,” she agreed, closing the folder.

“The identity of my sister is strictly a secret,” Mycroft told her. “Your must be discreet in your enquiries because there are many people in this world who would like nothing more than to know her name and location so they could use her against me. The reason why I am searching for her is irrelevant; your task is merely to do all within your power to locate her as quickly as possible. She was last seen at an airport in Vienna two days ago. Time is of the essence.”

\---------------------------------------------------

The sun, shining warm and bright in a window, gently roused Rose from her sleep. Blinking to clear the sleepiness from her eyes, she slowly took in her surroundings. This bed was not her own, and this room was not hers either, and, if she wanted to think about it that way, the sun wasn’t hers either. The sun in London was not the same as the sun in Rome. It felt oddly stronger and warmer, seemingly highlighting the fact that she was far from home, just another stranger in a big city.

Part of her was amazed that Mycroft hadn’t found her yet, though she had taken considerable measures to keep him from doing that. After arriving in Vienna, Rose had more or less ditched her own identity and became Tracy Samantha Lord, a nod to one of her favorite films and her favorite actress of all time, Katharine Hepburn. The international airport had aided Rose in assuming her new identity, offering a full salon which she had immediately taken advantage of. Her shoulder length curls were cut to a short bob, her hair bleached an ordinary shade of blonde. Colored contacts, which Rose had purchased before leaving London, changed her eyes from blue to green, completing the physical changes of her identity.

Her hat and jacket had been turned in to the airport’s lost and found and new ones purchased from one of the many stores, a drab brown colored pea coat and matching newsboy cap. Once she was dressed appropriately for February weather in Vienna and had purchased a burner mobile, Rose kept her head down as she made her way to a nearby hostel. After a brief but restorative sleep, Rose woke at 5am and went to the local train station to purchase a ticket to Rome, a fourteen hour journey during which she developed her background story and repeated it to herself over and over again in order to burn it into her brain.

_I’m Tracy Lord, eighteen years old, an orphan. I just graduated from school. My parents died recently and I am looking to start a new life somewhere. Only child, no living relatives._

And now, here she was, waking up under the Italian sun. The day’s first order of business was food, followed by a job search. After dressing and shoving some money and her important documents into her pockets, Rose locked up her backpack and headed out to familiarize herself with Rome.

\------------------------------------------------

_One Week Later_

Rose flopped onto her bed in her first little ‘house’ exhausted from a long night of work. Weekends were for partying everywhere, she had learned, and the restaurant and bar where she had begun waitressing was among the busiest in this section of the city. She looked around her surroundings, a small studio like flat above the restaurant, which was owned and operated by a large family, had everything a girl could need. It had been strange to go home to her own place, rather than stay at a hostel at night, but Rose had jumped at the chance for some privacy and space even if it was a small space indeed.

The family she was working for had seemed to take her under their wing. Rose was the only non family member employed by the restaurant and hadn’t had to offer any references in order to land the job. The owner was so delighted she spoke Italian like a native as well as English that he had offered her the job on the spot, along with the little flat. It had taken some cleaning, but Rose didn’t mind the hard work and was proud to have a place to call her own and the semblance of a normal, routine life. She really didn’t miss her brothers at all!

Well… not much anyway. And not when she was busy with something that kept her from thinking about them. Tonight, however, she was a bit lonely and wondered if Mycroft was even looking for her. Part of her was slightly disappointed he hadn’t tracked her down by now, but for the most part she was glad. Perhaps he had listened to what she said in her letter to not come find her.

Yes, Rose thought. That had to be it. He was respecting her wishes. As she snuggled under the duvet, she reached for Teddy, her beloved bear that Mycroft gave her the day she was born, and hugged it tightly.

\---------------------------------------------

The next morning, a sunny Sunday, found Rose at the restaurant once again. The eatery had its regulars and each waitress seemed to have a few people or a small group that requested a certain waitress’s section. Rose’s was by far the busiest, with a group of five or six Italian businessmen who came in almost daily for coffee and stayed through the lunch hour loudly discussing their work. Rose consciously tried not to listen to what they had to say, because it was none of her business and something told her they chose her section because she was British rather than Italian. Perhaps they thought they would find more privacy in her area, rather than a waitress straining her ears for the latest tips of stocks or up and coming ventures in Rome. While she could speak and understand Italian fluently, she didn’t flaunt that ability, nor did she appear overly interested in the various conversations that took place all over the restaurant.

This morning, however, her regulars arrived with someone new in tow. Tall, dark and handsome, the very epitome of that cliché, the new man of the group was without a doubt the most gorgeous specimen of the male sex that Rose had ever seen. He was in his early twenties, compared to the forty or better years of the rest of the men, and his eyes lit up as he saw Rose. Those dark eyes, like pools of melted chocolate, raked her up and down and, as best Rose could tell, liked what he saw.

“Good morning,” she greeted her guests, gathering several menus. “This way please gentlemen.” As Rose led the way to their usual table, she swore she could feel his eyes watching her every move. When the men sat, she handed out the menus before turning away from the table to give them a moment to decide. Just as she stepped away, she felt a hand on her wrist and turned to look back at the table.

“Ciao bella,” the handsome young man greeted her. “I have not seen you here before.”

Rose gave him a smile, trying hard not to blush. “I’m fairly new. Is there something I can get you right away? A coffee perhaps?”

“Your name, bella?”

“Tracy.” The new name rolled off Rose’s tongue as if it had always belonged to her.

“Tracy,” he repeated. “I’m Damiano.”

“Coffees,” one of the other men spoke up. It was only then that Rose realized Damiano was still holding her wrist. Their eyes locked as he withdrew his hand so she could place the order and Rose felt as if she could get lost forever in those eyes. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she went to get the requested coffees.

“Oooh, someone likes you,” one of the other waitresses said. “Handsome, no?”

“Very,” Rose agreed. “Have you seen him before?”

Apollonia nodded. “Yes, he usually comes in with that group. One of them is his father. Those are very powerful men,” she added. “Good tippers too, hm?”

“They are rather generous,” Rose admitted. “What do they do exactly?”

“Many things, I have heard. Their fingers in all the pies. That is how the saying goes, yes?” Apollonia replied.

Rose laughed. “Close enough.” She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her new friend’s comments. One heard sayings like that about gangs and mafia in the states, or terrorist organizations around the world. They looked like ordinary business men to her, but rumor mills ran wild in Italy as much as they did anywhere else, she imagined. Giving the other waitress a smile, she loaded the coffees onto a tray and made her way back across the room.

Four hours later the business meeting broke up and the men departed, with the exception of the handsome younger man. “What do you do for fun, bella?” he asked Rose as he handed over payment.

“Not much,” Rose replied, feeling her face grow warm. “Just work. I haven’t been in Italy all that long.” She counted out the change for him and handed it over, surprised when he pressed a large bill back into her hand.

“Your tip bella. Lunch was very… enjoyable.” Damiano gave her a positively sultry look that made Rose blush furiously. “So shy?” he teased. “Do you like gelato Tracy?”

She nodded. “Who doesn’t? Especially when it’s the authentic stuff right here in Rome.”

“What time are you off bella?”

Rose’s heart began thudding once more. Oh good god, was this gorgeous man going to ask her out? “Five,” she said a bit breathlessly.

Damiano grinned at her. “We’ll have gelato then. I’ll get you at six, yes?”

“Yes. You can collect me here, I live close by,” Rose told him. She was certain that she was grinning like an idiot and only hoped it was a pretty grin and not a stupid one. Her smile grew even bigger and brighter when Damiano winked at her and took his leave.

\------------------------------------------------

Rose and Damiano sat along the base of the Trevi Fountain with containers of gelato from Gelato Di Sans Crispino. It was a peaceful evening as the sun descending and casting shadows across the square. It was both beautiful and breathtaking, but both parties were much more interested in one another than their impressive surroundings.

“Oh… my… god,” Rose murmured around a mouthful of gelato. “It’s my favorite thing in the world as a gelato. If this isn’t heaven, I haven’t a clue what is.”

Damiano laughed loudly. “Coffee is your favorite thing in the world? You would make a very good Italian! How have you not come here yet? How long have you been here?”

“It is, I am guilty of being a massive coffee addict,” she told him with a smile. “I got busy working and haven’t been able to explore much. I’ve only been here just over a week so I’m still very new to Rome and to my job.”

“Then I think the time has come to explore Rome,” Damiano told her. “Starting tonight. Soon people will come fill this whole area, as it’s a big spot for tourists. When they come disturb us, perhaps we’ll go dancing. Do you like dancing, bambolina?”

“Bambolina?” Rose asked. She knew what the word meant, but wanted to hear him say it.

Damiano smiled at her. “Little doll. You are very little and lovely, like a porcelain doll. But you did not answer my question.”

“I do like to dance and would love to see some of the night life around here!” Rose admitted. “Did you want to try some of my coffee gelato?” She scooped some up in her spoon and held it out towards him. Much to her surprise, he leaned over and kissed her soundly instead. His kiss was gentle, yet belied hunger beneath it, causing shivers to go up and down her spine

“Delicious,” he murmured when he pulled away, eyeing her appreciatively.

Her face went red and she could feel how hot it was. That had been her first proper kiss and it was as unexpected as it was amazing. “I meant on the spoon,” Rose murmured shyly.

“Ah, my shy bambolina. I like you very much,” Damiano decided. “We’ll have much fun together, yes?”

“Yes,” she repeated, giving him a smile. Though she was calm and smiling on the outside, she was jumping with excitement on the inside.

“Come then, we will go dancing before the crowd arrives.” He pulled her to her feet and wrapped an arm possessively around her waist.

\---------------------------------------------------------

While Rose was enjoying gelato and her first kiss, Mycroft and Anthea were still furiously trying to locate her, spending long hours working in mostly silence as they did. “I don’t understand it sir,” Anthea finally spoke up. “She just disappears. Gets off the plane and then I lose her in the crowd every time. Facial recognition can’t track her among that crowd.”

“She’s petite,” Mycroft admitted. “And undoubtedly knows how to avoid being spotted by a camera if she wants to.”

“She must very much want to,” Anthea replied quietly. She regretted her words the moment they left her mouth, as a look of sadness oh-so-briefly crossed her employer’s face. “I know this isn’t my business, but it might help my search efforts if I know why she left. If _you_ know, that is. Was it a boyfriend?”

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand. “It was not. I will say this once, and only once. It was my fault she left. I drove her away, and I would give anything to have her back. _Anything_.” He expected an inquisition from his PA after saying something like that. Even in the short time she had been working for him, she knew his methods and how he operated and that emotional entanglements were not to be tolerated.

Rather than ask any questions, however, Anthea merely nodded. “I’ll expand the search to Austria at large and focus on the border.” Without another word she exited his office and went back to her desk to widen the search.

\------------------------------------------------------

After their night on the town, Damiano and Rose became inseparable and as each week faded into the next, Rose found herself falling more and more in love with her handsome Italian. Rarely did she give a thought to her brothers back in London, feeling happier than she had in a very long time. Her happiness caused her to turn a blind eye to things that she should have noticed.

Her employer, Gino, watched with growing concern as she and Damiano spent more and more time together. He had lived in Rome for a very long time and the Baresi family, Damiano’s family, had a certain reputation. Their business ventures were lucrative fronts for illicit activities that kept local authorities on high alert, hoping to catch them in the act of selling armaments to any number of groups or organizations, or distributing meth and cocaine to the city’s most elite clubs. The Baresi’s took what they wanted when they wanted it and did not take no for an answer.

Gino himself had run into problems with them when he first started his restaurant. They tried to dictate where he purchased his food and liquor from and when he refused to patronize somewhere merely because they told him too, the Baresis had put word out that no one should come to his restaurant. Gino and his wife had had no choice but to give in and purchase supplies from people associated with the Baresis and once they did, their business boomed.

They made a good living from the restaurant and were able to have a large, happy family thanks to that success and Gino never took that for granted, knowing that with one word they could be ruined if the Baresi family dictated it. That was why their meetings were held at his restaurant, because they could gather there unmolested by authorities and were guaranteed the silence of he and his family members. It certainly didn’t hurt that they never had to pay full price for their meals if they didn’t feel like it.

Based on his own interactions with the Baresi family and the rumors that ran throughout the city, many of which were likely to be true, Gino couldn’t help but be concerned as he saw the growing attachment between his waitress and Damiano Baresi. He felt honor bound to warn her about who she was spending her time with and decided to do so one morning before the restaurant opened.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Damiano, yes?” Gino asked.

Rose nodded and smiled. “He’s wonderful. He spoils me and we go to so many wonderful places together. He likes to dance and loves jazz, he’s just perfect,” she gushed, her face alight with happiness.

Gino sighed heavily. “Tracy, I am going to say something you will not like, but as your parents are dead and Arianna and our whole family have come to like you so much, I feel as though I must.”

By this point Rose was used to being addressed by her alias and it sounded as natural in reference to her as her own name did. She frowned slightly at his words and apprehension sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

“Damiano… He comes from a very powerful family Tracy. They are involved in dangerous things, illegal things, and I am worried about you spending so much time with him. You might get caught up in something and find yourself in trouble. I think… I think you should not spend more time with him. There is enough trouble in this world without creating more for one’s self, yes?” Gino looked hopeful that she would take his words to heart, as they were words said with the very best of intentions.

It took Rose a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking. She didn’t want to insult her boss, who was a kind man, someone she liked and respected, but her love life was really no one’s business but her own. “Thank you, Gino for your concern but I really think it’s entirely misplaced. Damiano is a really wonderful guy and I’ve never seen him do, or even say, anything that would make him seem dangerous. I really, really like him and he likes me too,” Rose stressed. “I can’t break up with him merely because there’s rumors and suspicion of things I’ve never seen evidence of.” Not to mention Rose was quite certain they were in love, but she didn’t want to reveal that to Gino.

“You must do as you see fit, Tracy,” Gino said quietly. He knew there was no arguing with her. She was not his child and she was quite headstrong. Arguing would do little more than push her further into Damiano Baresi’s arms. “We will talk no more about it, if you wish. Just be careful. Watch out for yourself.”

“I will,” Rose promised. “Thank you for trying to look out for me. I really do appreciate it.” She gave the man a hug before getting back to work. Surely her kind-hearted boss was just being protective of her. There couldn’t _really_ be any truth to what the man said… Could there?

Across the city, Rome’s top policemen were gathered for an important meeting. They had been attempting to build a case against the Baresi family for arms trafficking and large scale drug distribution for far too long, but had always been one step behind, that whole family moving like a well oiled machine.

“I think, gentlemen, we have found our in,” the senior officer spoke. He put several photographs on the table and stepped back to allow them to be examined. Rose featured prominently in each photo, most of which included Damiano Baresi. “His new girl, a Londoner, young and naïve. We’re going to trail her and see if she will lead us into the lion’s den. Now find out everything you can about her and get men following her at once.”

\---------------------------------------------

It wasn’t long after Gino tried to warn her against Damiano that Rose began to notice things that she hadn’t before. It was almost as if her employer’s words had reawakened an instinct that she had allowed to go dormant in her new sunny, gelato filled life. London and Mycroft seemed so far away and very long ago, as if she had left it all behind years prior rather than a mere four weeks times.

Money was the first tip-off that things were not all what they seemed. Damiano never lacked for cold hard cash, regularly filling the tank of his motorbike, buying meals out at fancy restaurants and spending large sums at the hottest dance clubs. Having money to burn was certainly not a crime, but Rose realized she had no actual idea what it was Damiano, or his family, did for a living.

Once Rose began thinking about it, she realized that there were several little things off about Damiano, each innocuous enough on its own, but combined could spell trouble. They never went to the same club two nights in a row and no matter which one they were in, Damiano would consistently disappear for a solid twenty minutes before he wrapped his arms around her protectively once more. One night at a club stood out in particular in her mind. After he pulled his disappearing act, Rose made her way towards the ladies room at the back of the club. There was, as usual, a line and as she stood awaiting her turn she could make out Damiano’s voice coming from the manager’s office nearby. His voice was loud and angry, and Rose knew she would recognize it anywhere despite the noise of the club in general. She never asked him about it, hoping that ignorance really was bliss, as the saying went.

Shortly after hearing the argument at the club, Rose began to notice that she was being followed. Initially she tried to dismiss it, but she was in fact being followed by at least three different men in dark clothes. She had now been gone for five weeks- had MI 5 or someone else of that ilk been sent by Mycroft to retrieve her? Or were they men who worked for Damiano’s family? Some sort of Italian authorities? It was unsettling that she couldn’t pinpoint who specifically was following her and why, but as the days slipped past the idea of MI-5 or anyone Mycroft related dwindled away as surely they would have packed her off home to London by now. Plus, she noticed them, meaning they weren’t especially good at their job which eliminated Mycroftian agents; her brother would never suffer stupid personnel.

Perhaps it was getting to be time to move on and find someplace new. But how could she leave Damiano? They were in love, she was sure of it! Yet Rose couldn’t shake the feeling that _something_ was wrong. “Maybe I’ll make plans just in case,” she mused out loud. “I probably won’t need them, but it would be good to have them just in case.” Rose looked over at her ‘confidant’, Teddy, as if the little bear in her pink footed pajamas might possibly have some words of wisdom for her. Sadly, Teddy had nothing to say.

\------------------------------------------------

“I want you to come meet my family,” Damiano said softly.

They were cuddling on her couch, watching old Italian movies on the telly and sharing a double dark chocolate gelato. It was cozy and homey and could almost make Rose forget that she had cause to be suspicious, to be alarmed. She hadn’t mentioned the men following her to Damiano, nor did she speak Italian fluently in his presence, all indicators that she didn’t trust him. That she should use her contingency plan and leave, never stopping to look behind her, but her head and her heart were pulling her apart.

Damiano pressed a kiss to her temple. “Mama has been begging me to bring my new girl home for a good meal.”

Rose smiled and arched an eyebrow. “Your new girl?” she echoed. “Sounds like you’ve brought _many_ girls home.” He laughed, a warm laugh that made her stomach flip-flop with… enjoyment? Desire? Love?

“Perhaps. But you are my very favorite,” he murmured in her ear. Seconds later he began to nibble on her ear lobe gently, drawing a squeak of surprise from her. “So shy, my bambolina. There’s so much I can teach you.”

If ever there was a definition of a seductive tone it was his at that moment and Rose felt her heart lurch. When he drew her closer she melted against him, giving him soft little kisses along his jaw line as his hand caressed her arm. Slowly it moved lower until his hand was cupping her breast. As soon as she felt it, Rose gasped and jerked herself out of his grasp.

With a sigh Damiano shook his head. “I think you tell me lies bambolina.”

Her heart began to beat erratically. What did he know? How did he know it?

“You tell me you are a nice girl from a nice family in London, but it is not true,” he asserted. “You were raised by nuns and have escaped from your convent, no?”

Images of _The Sound of Music_ floated through Rose’s head as she began to laugh. That had most definitely not been what she expected him to say! Her relief was palpable though, especially when he laughed along with her. “Of course not! I’m not a convent runaway, I promise.” Runaway, yes; runaway from a convent; definitely not. Rose gave him a shy smile once her laughter had subsided. “I just want to go slow is all. No reason to rush. We have all the time in the world, right?”

Damiano smiled but there was something in his eyes that bothered her. Something that made Rose feel as if she was a prize to be won, a sort of trophy, a _conquest_ and that he was certain her defenses would crumble. The thought of it was both flattering and frightening.

“Will you come?” he asked, pulling her back into his arms. “Come meet my family?”

Despite herself, Rose murmured her agreement and only hoped she wasn’t going to regret it.


	29. An Adventure in Italy Part 2

How one eighteen year old girl could manage to elude him and every avenue of search possible for nearly six full weeks, Mycroft had no idea. Very little was beyond the grasp of Mycroft Holmes, save for the monarchy, crown jewels, and, apparently, Rosenwyn Holmes. Had the circumstances been different, he would have taken pride in her planning and executing such a complete disappearance. It demonstrated great skill and cunning.

As each day slipped by, Mycroft couldn’t decide what he would do first when he _did_ find her: spank her soundly for worrying him half to death, or hug her tightly while simultaneously implanting a tracking device in her! Her passport hadn’t been used since entering Vienna, there was no activity on her bank card, nothing. She was alive, he was certain of it, but beyond that he was both clueless and helpless.

\-----------------------------------------------------

As Damiano drove his motorbike at breakneck speed, Rose held onto him for dear life, her arms wrapped around his torso, feeling so exhilarated and alive. And, just a tiny bit naughty for not wearing a helmet! It was the first time since cutting her hair that Rose was glad to have her short bob, knowing that if she hadn’t, she would have arrived with a mess of tangles and knots in her hair to meet Damiano’s family.

The countryside was gorgeous and Rose had never seen anything like it in her life, making the forty minute trip outside Rome well worth the commute to the villa where Damiano’s parents lived. Grapes were growing as far as the eye could see, painting the landscape with lush colors. It was a sight she would never forget as long as she lived.

Finally the motorbike sped up a driveway in front of a massive villa. It rivaled Holmes Manor in its splendor and was possibly larger as well. As Rose’s eyes captured every detail and committed it to memory, a woman and children of various ages came out to greet them. Before she could even say hello, Rose found herself suddenly in the arms of the woman, who hugged her tightly and spoke Italian almost faster than Rose could keep up with.

“Mama!” Damiano laughed. “Tracy’s only just learning Italian. She’s not very good yet! Slow down and use English.” He bent down a bit to kiss his mother’s cheek.

“We are so glad you came,” Sophia Baresi told Rose. “Damiano always speaks of you and finally we meet you! Come inside and I will make you coffee. Damiano, be a good gentleman and take her bag up to the guest room. No sharing a bed in _my_ house little love birds!”

Rose’s face turned a bright scarlet color at just the thought of sharing Damiano’s bed, let alone sharing it in his mother’shouse! Her embarrassment earned her a laugh from Damiano and a hug from Sophia. “No ma’am, of course not,” she said softly, almost overcome by embarrassment. She and her brothers just did _not_ speak about such things at home.

“Finally, Damiano brings home a very nice girl,” Sophia decided. “Too many fast girls he’s had. Time for a very nice girl like you. Come, come! Time for coffee and introductions.” Without waiting for Rose to respond, Sophia took her by the hand and began leading her towards the house, pointing out people and rattling out names as they went. “You stay just one night this time, yes? Next time come for a whole weekend. You are too tiny, I think. Come eat at my table, there are no tiny people here. Too much good food to eat to be such a little bird like you!”

\-----------------------------------------------

It was nothing like she had ever experienced before. In all the noise and chaos that she and Sherlock had created over the years, even with the assistance of Louise, it was nothing compared to this. Rose was squished around a large table with thirty-two other people, everyone laughing and talking at an impossible volume in a mixture of Italian and English. Brothers and sisters; cousins; aunts and uncles, it was a madhouse

She didn’t know where to look, who to listen to, let alone who to interact with.

“You look very overwhelmed,” Sophia said, reaching over to pat Rose’s hand. “Your family is not like this?”

Rose snorted and shook her head. “Good god no!” As soon as the words left her mouth she felt self-conscious. Had she just insulted her hostess? “My parents were academics, brilliant but quiet,” she hurriedly added. “Though there was lots of love.”

Sophia smiled and nodded. “Ah. And your brothers and sisters? What do they do? How many nieces and nephews do you have?”

A lump rose unbidden in her throat and Rose swallowed several times before she was able to speak. “There’s no one else. Just me now,” she said softly. The enormity of that, of being alone, hit her hard. Rose was in over her head and that was never more apparent than at that moment. For the first time in weeks she wished that Mycroft was there because somehow he always knew what to do. He might berate her for being an utter moron and wax on about how selfish her disappearance was, but he would know what to do.

“Mama, don’t ask such questions,” Damiano scolded lightly. “She is recently orphaned.”

Sophia’s eyes filled with sympathy and it made Rose hate herself. The many lies she told, to people who did not deserve to be lied to. She was, by definition, an orphan since both her parents were dead, but she was not truly orphaned. There was no taking her alias’s back story back, however, and it made Rose want to leave all the more.

“Oh, _patatina_ ,” Sophia murmured, hugging Rose tightly.

Rose couldn’t help smiling at the term of endearment, _little potato._

“You know what that means?” Damiano asked, seeing her smile.

“No,” Rose lied. “But since it’s accompanied with a lovely hug I’m assuming it’s something quite nice.”

Damiano laughed and gave her a dazzling smile. “Come bambolina; let’s escape the noisy crowd in here. I’ll show you Mama’s gardens.”

\------------------------------------------------------

There was nothing worse than desperately needing the loo in a very large, dark and strange house in the wee hours of the morning. The villa’s endless hallways had her going in circles and Rose didn’t dare open doors to see if she could find it. What if she opened someone’s bedroom door? Or maybe, maybe there wasn’t even a loo on the second floor to begin with. Maybe there was just the one downstairs and she was fairly sure she could locate it again if she tried.

Ever so carefully Rose found the stairs and moved slowly down them. “Is this what being blind is like?” she wondered, groping the railing. If it was, she had no idea how more people didn’t die of broken necks from falling down the stairs! Then again, she could climb the stairs at Baker Street and the townhouse in her sleep, so there was the home turf advantage. She, on the other hand, had no advantages.

When she finally reached the first floor the sound of voices came floating from down a hallway. “Perfect, why wander aimlessly if you can ask?” Rose made her way towards the sound of the voices and was quickly within hearing distance. What she heard however, made her blood run cold. They were talking in Italian about guns and not just any guns, but very big ones if she understood correctly. But she definitely heard the word _arma_ which could mean anything from hand guns to heavy duty armaments and _medio Oriente_ … The Middle East. What the bloody _hell_ had she gotten herself into?

She turned to scurry back upstairs and plan an escape when the old wooden floor creaked beneath her feet. A door just feet away from her flew open and there was Damiano’s father. He didn’t say a word, merely stared at her, his eyes so hard and cold.

“I can’t find the bathroom,” Rose said quickly, crossing her legs. “Um… uh… bagno? Bagno per favore?” She said the words slowly, stumbling over them as fear pulsated in her veins.

Suddenly Damiano was there beside his father. “Tracy? There’s one upstairs,” he commented, frowning at her.

“I couldn’t find it in the dark and I remembered one being down here,” she explained.

“Okay, let’s go back upstairs and I will show you,” Damiano said. He took her hand and led her away from what had appeared to be a very large office. Once upstairs, he showed her where the loo was and kissed her sweetly before disappearing down stairs once more.

Rose hurried into the loo and locked the door behind her. Once she finished using the facilities, she sat down on the cold tile floor and wrapped her arms around herself, her mind reeling. “How do I get out of this?” she whispered.

\-------------------------------------------------

Extracting herself from Damiano turned out to be far more difficult that Rose had hoped it would be. He knew her schedule intimately and they had always spent every free moment together, so it would look suspicious if she suddenly disappeared. She had her boss, Gino, schedule her for more hours, so that her whole weekend was booked and she could not accept Sophia Baresi’s offer to come stay the whole next weekend. Damiano then whispered to Gino how much he wanted to take her back to the villa and suddenly Rose had a three day weekend free and no reasonable excuse to not accompany Damiano that weekend.

Though the opportunity did not quite present itself to get away cleanly, Rose was, however, ready to leave as soon as that moment arrived. There was little of importance to take with her and her backpack was always at the ready. Two changes of clothing, Teddy, all three passports (two fake, one real), a burner mobile, and every bit of money she had were in her ‘go bag.’ If only the chance to _go_ would present itself. For now, all Rose could do was keep playing the game, now for the greatest prize of all: her survival.

A glimmer of hope appeared before her that Friday morning as Damiano came to collect her for the trip to the villa. His motorbike was broken down and needed to be repaired. “Oh, that’s too bad,” Rose told him sympathetically. “We’ll have to go another weekend, yeah?”

“Well, there is a solution. We could rent a car,” Damiano pointed out. “You have a driver’s license, yes?”

Rose’s heart sank. “Yeah, but don’t you?”

Damiano shook his head. “No, just for the motorbike. Cars are a different license. So we can go get the car in your name and we will go.”

“Aren’t most cars here manual transmission?” Rose asked. She was grasping at straws as her gut churned violently. “I’ve only ever driven cars with automatic transmission.” In reality, her driver’s license was a fake, purchased from the same person that had done her passports. It was a convenient way to establish one’s identity and Rose had never envisioned actually needing to use it. She could drive, a little bit, but she had never completed her practice time to get her license in London because Mycroft had refused to take her out again after the first few attempts had gone a little roughly.

“Oh, that’s no problem,” Damiano assured her. “You get the car with your license but I can drive it. I know how to drive manual transmission, but I never bothered with a license. Why would I need it when I have my motorbike?”

He was very insistent that they get a car and Rose was growing concerned about crossing that line where the lady doth protest too much. “I’d rather have a motorbike than a car too,” she admitted with a smile. “Much more convenient, except when it breaks down! Is there a place close by we can rent from?” Rose knew she’d said the right thing when he smiled back at her.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

When Rose and Damiano arrived at the rental place near the airport, she noticed that two men who had been following them also made their way inside and appeared to be waiting their turn. They were not dressed like typical tourist car renters, however, and Rose once again believed they were outright tailing she and Damiano. They weren’t men of Mycroft’s, she’d dismissed that theory long ago, but they were either Baresi family employees or policemen. Damiano paid no attention to them, which made Rose believe that they were somehow known to him and thus, she tried not to worry about. After signing the rental agreement, she watched Damiano hand over the money and took the keys from the agent. The two men leisurely followed behind them as they searched for the car to match the set of keys. She breathed a sigh of relief when they left the men behind at the rental lot.

Unfortunately her sigh of relief cam far too soon; after all, she was not the sister of Mycroft Holmes for nothing. She knew exactly what tailing a car at a distance looked like and those two men were in fact tailing them. They stayed a few cars back, but Rose could clearly make out their faces in the rearview mirror. God knows she’d seen those faces often enough recently! Rose watched out her passenger side window, humming along lazily with the song on the radio, casually keeping an eye on the two men and their vehicle. She was so focused on watching them that she didn’t realize Damiano was turning into a driveway until they were already in it. The men in the car drove past, but definitely slowed down and Rose was willing to bet anything that they would be waiting somewhere to trail she and Damiano once again.

“Where are we?” Rose asked, stretching a bit.

“So you were day dreaming then,” Damiano laughed. “The pretty landscape lulled you into daydreams and you didn’t hear me. I said we were stopping for a moment, because I needed to see a friend.”

“Sorry,” Rose blushed. She reached her hand towards the belt buckle but Damiano stopped her.

“I’ll only be a minute bambolina. Stay here and listen to the music,” he said, leaning down to kiss her hand. Without another word, he exited the vehicle to greet a middle aged man that emerged from the house.

Trying to appear as if she were still somewhat day dreamy, she closed her eyes part way but kept a keen eye on what was going on around her. The side view mirror assisted her in her efforts and initially it seemed as if her gut instinct that she should be wary about this little sidetrack appeared to be wrong. There was hugging and chatter asking about relatives and it all seemed well and good… until Damiano popped the trunk of the car.

Her heart started pounding loudly in alarm. They hadn’t put anything in the trunk at the rental lot! Apparently someone _else_ had! Rose’s jaw dropped momentarily as she saw money pass to Damiano’s hands and what was very clearly cocaine pass into the other man’s. Why oh _why_ hadn’t she listened to Gino, when he’d tried to warn her away from Damiano and his family?

Rose could suddenly hear Mycroft’s words echoing extemporaneously in her head. _You never learn. How many times do we have to have this conversation? I know damn well you are not an idiot and it would be beneficial if you stopped acting like one. You’re so selfish and spoiled, always doing what you want when you want to without a care to the consequences or anyone else._

She was exactly what he accused her of and that was precisely how she managed to get into this mess. A wave of hopelessness unlike anything she’d ever felt before washed over her and tears began to sting her eyes. Would she be able to get herself out of this? Then again, what choice did she have?

Damiano climbed back into the driver’s seat and immediately noticed something was wrong. “Bambolina? Tracy?”

It was only then that Rose realized he had reentered the car and she hurriedly tried to wipe away the few tears that had fallen.

“What is wrong?” he asked, reaching for her hand and squeezing it gently.

This was so completely unfair! Damiano was so perfect in every way, except apparently he was a member of some sort of crime family. “It’s so beautiful here,” Rose said slowly. “I was thinking about how much my Mum would like it here.” It wasn’t completely a lie; Maud Holmes had been to Italy many times and did in fact like it, though she preferred Greece if there was a choice between the two.

Damiano nodded. “We’re almost to the villa and it will be impossible for you to be lonely there,” he promised. “Too many people for anyone to ever be lonely.”

Rose couldn’t help but laugh. “That is very, very true.” She tried to relax and believe that somehow, someway there would be a way out for her. She would merely need to be smart enough to see it and take it.

As they left the driveway and got back onto the road, Rose was not the least bit surprised to see the two men following them once more.

\--------------------------------------------------------

After arriving at the villa Rose had very little time to worry or do anything other than be occupied by the mass chaos that was the Baresi family. Little ones running around, yummy food to make, walking in the garden, the day passed quickly and pleasantly, though Rose always stayed on her guard as best she could.

Just before 1am, Rose said goodnight to the adults still awake and headed upstairs to the guest room. She wasn’t tired enough to sleep yet, but some quiet time to think about things would certainly be beneficial. Just as she was getting her pajamas out of her backpack the wail of sirens was heard in the drive and spotlights lit up the front of the house. No… It just couldn’t be. Not the _polizia_. That certainly answered the question of who the hell her stalkers-come-lately were.

Before she could even think of what to do, the door to her room slammed open, revealing a very, _very_ angry Damiano. “You,” he growled. “You did this. You’re an informant aren’t you? They are here for my family! We welcomed you!”

“I had nothing to do with this Damiano, I swear!” Rose protested. “I have no idea what they are doing here or what is going on, I’m just as shocked as you are!”

“LIAR!” Damiano accused. He raised his hand and backhanded her, the force of it throwing her back a ways. Rose cried out and could taste something metallic in her mouth; the taste of blood.

When he came after her a second time, Rose was ready for him and gave him a solid right hook. She felt a second of pride when he staggered backwards. Someday she’d have to thank Sherlock for teaching her that.

It didn’t take him far enough back however and he came at her again, screaming obscenities in Italian. Damiano grabbed her throat with both hands, slammed her back against the wall and began choking her.

Out of sheer instinct, and good training from her big brother, Rose tucked her chin down, enabling her to breath. She grabbed hold of Damiano’s wrists with her hands and pulled against them with all her strength. He held tight, but lurched forward due to the sheer momentum of her full body weight pulling him and that was when she struck. Rose kneed him in the solar plexus and Damiano let go of her throat. Drawing in a deep breath she kneed him in the groin, watching him fall over, and landed yet another right hook, hearing the crunch of his nose beneath her fist.

Hoping against hope that Damiano would be occupied with his injuries long enough for her to get away, Rose grabbed her bag and ran from the room to the one directly across from hers. There was a balcony with a trellis in that room and without even sparing a second to be afraid, Rose climbed over the trellis and moved down it, until it ran out, leaving her stuck six feet above the ground. Grabbing hold of a drain pipe, she swung over onto it and shimmied down until her feet touched the ground. As she ran into the night, she could hear the sound of massive gunfire behind her; it sickened her, thinking of the women and children still in that house, but there was nothing she could do for them.

Guided only by the light of the moon, Rose ran far enough from the villa to cross the street onto a neighbor’s property without being seen. She slipped into the orchard and ran through it, trying desperately to calculate the miles back to Rome. Her tired, panicked mind just couldn’t make the numbers work but she knew it was much too far for her to walk the whole way back. She would have to find help somewhere, from someone and get ‘the hell outta dodge’ as the saying went. It seemed a particularly appropriate phrase, considering the fact that her life had somehow turned into the most horrific of spaghetti westerns.

She ran for hours, stopping only once to break the burner mobile she had been using in Rome and pulled her spare from the bag. The sight of her Teddy reminded her of Mycroft and she wanted more than anything to call him and beg him to bring her home. With trembling hands she began to punch in his mobile number. Pressing the button to activate the call, Rose struggled to keep from bursting into tears. What if he didn’t answer? What if he did and he was angry? What if he wouldn’t let her come home? What if he said he didn’t care, that she’d made her bed and must lie in it? It would break her, she knew it would.

The phone rang and rang and rang until it was answered and she could hear Mycroft sleepily fumble with his mobile. Before he could even say a word, Rose ended the call, emotionally unable to countenance facing him after what she’d done. It wasn’t time to go home yet, and she promised in that moment to never, ever tell him what had happened in Rome. After breaking that mobile too, she began to run again, hoping she would soon find the home of the orchard’s owner, silently thanking that person for the shelter its trees gave her.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Mycroft let out a groan when his mobile began to ring. It was 3am and god only knew what manner of emergency might be rousing him from sleep. He pressed the button to answer the call and fumbled for a moment to bring it to his ear and speak. Just as he did so, the line went dead. Looking at the number, unable to recall it from anywhere, he immediately wondered if it was Rose and his heart began pounding wildly. Mycroft called the number back and there was no response. “Poppet, where are you and what are you doing?” he said out loud, the words etched with heartache. He would never forgive himself if something happened to her… or if she never came home at all.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

It was a beautiful, early morning, perfect for a strong cup of coffee consumed while admiring the landscape. The coffee drinker, a young man, was thrilled to have the rented farmhouse to himself for the day. His parents and sisters had departed moments ago to see the Roman Forum before the crowds came and made it miserable. Taking a deep breath of the fresh air, it seemed as if nothing at all could mar this magical moment at just past 5am…

And then something did.

Namely because it came crashing out of the adjacent orchard, tripped over a plant and fell flat on its face in the dirt. No, it wasn’t an it; definitely human and, he was fairly certain the human was a girl. As he tried to think of what to say- how _does_ one greet a random woodland creature that emerges less than gracefully from one’s rented orchard?- she got up. He got his first full look at her and it was quite a look…

As in not a very good look at all! The while front of her was covered in dirt, her legs were scratched all to hell, there was dried blood smeared on her face and she was sporting quite the bruise. No, not _a_ bruise, bruises, plural. One marred what was otherwise a pretty face and the other her neck, finger impressions and all. What the bloody _hell_ had happened to her?

“Hello?” he called. “You look like you might need some assistance, unless this where and how you do your morning run. Somehow I don’t think that’s the case.” As she turned to look at him, he could see she was exhausted and very frightened, her eyes wide with alarm.

Rose’s heart raced as she turned to face this stranger. It was a man. Of _course_ it was a man. Her body could hardly produce the necessary adrenaline to make her fight-or-flight response kick in and she merely stood there, staring.

Putting down his coffee, the man began to slowly approach her. “My name is Tom,” he said, in a soothing, lilting voice. “My parents are renting this farmhouse but they’ve gone and I’m the only one home right now.” He moved ever closer, trying to be as least threatening as possible. Finally they were within arm’s reach of one another.

“I think you need some help,” he said again. “And I would like to give it if you want to have it.”

Rose looked him up and down, trying to size him up. He looked harmless and friendly, but so had Damiano at one point. “Please tell me you’re not a serial killer.”

The man, Tom, frowned and blinked slowly. That was quite a question! “Nope, not the last time I checked at any rate.” He gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile and was thrilled to earn one in return.

“Can you check again?” Rose asked softly.

Tom chuckled before schooling his features, looking as though he were contemplating some complex equation for several seconds. “Still a no. There’s coffee and breakfast in the house, if you’ll come in. If you’d rather not I can bring it out here.”

“No! No, inside is good,” Rose decided. The less of her that was seen by people the better. She walked towards him and put her hand in his when he held it out.

“Come on darling, let’s get you inside and tackle your troubles one at a time,” Tom said encouragingly. Within just a few moments he sat her at the kitchen table with coffee, bacon and toast. Leaving the food on the table he stepped out of the room and returned a moment later with a wet flannel. With great care he began to gently wash the dirt and dried blood from her face.

“I’m so tired,” Rose whispered.

“You look it darling,” Tom admitted. “What’s your name? And who did this to you?” The bruises looked so much more violent now that he could see them better.

“I’m Tracy. I left the guy in worse shape than I am, promise.”

Tom smiled. “Oh yeah? A little thing like you?”

“Though she be but little, she is fierce,” Rose said quietly. “He’ll walk funny for a day after how hard I kicked him in the groin and with any luck I broke a rib or two in addition to his nose.”

“Woe be unto him then,” Tom replied firmly. “Who is the he in question?”

Rose sighed softly. “My boyfriend; my _ex_ boyfriend. We’re here on holiday and had a terrible row and I grabbed my stuff and left.” That was true, in a sense. “I haven’t got a clue how long I’ve been walking but it’s been hours and hours. I never thought I’d find the house attached to the orchard.” She waved her hand out the window in the direction of the orchard.

“Where are you headed? And how can I help?” Tom asked as he put down the flannel.

“Rome,” Rose immediately responded. “Airport. I have to get out of here. I know I’m ages and ages from Rome and I really have no idea who you are but...”

“I can do that. Finish your breakfast and I’ll take you. I’ve got a motorbike; my parents have the rental car. Is that alright?”

She gave him a weak smile. “I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth. I need to leave fast and be stealthy about it, to be frank. Have you got a hat and maybe a jacket you could loan me for the ride?”

“Time is of the essence, got it. Eat up while I go get something to disguise you in,” Tom told her. He half expected her to be out the door when he returned five minutes later, but she was still at the table, plate and cup empty. “It’s not fancy but it will get you to the airport without looking like yourself. Where’s your family, love?”

“That’s where I’m going,” Rose told him. That was an out and out lie. In actuality, she was going to get on the first plane to anywhere that wasn’t here the minute she changed her looks.

“Good. You’re too young to be going on holidays with boys,” Tom told her with a teasing smile.

“I’m eighteen, what are you, twenty?” She smiled a real smile when he nodded, but it faded almost as fast as it appeared. “Can we go?”

“You bet.” He handed over the hat and jacket and moments later they were on the road back to Rome.

\-------------------------------------------------

Rose had never been happier to see an airport than she was at just that moment. She slid gracefully off the motorbike when it was parked and shed the borrowed hat and jacket, returning them to their owner. “Thank you… thank you so much,” Rose said sincerely.

“You’re welcome,” Tom replied, equally sincere. “I’d love to meet you again someday, under better circumstances. Until then, be safe, and find better men to date, alright?”

She blushed bright red at his comment about dating, feeling more than a little ashamed of having gotten herself into this whole mess. “No offense, but god I hope I never see you again,” Rose blurted out.

Tom laughed and shook his head. “Can’t blame you darling. I’d want to forget whatever mess you’ve been in too.”

“I’ll never forget you though,” Rose promised. “And what you’ve done for me today.” On impulse she hugged him tightly in lieu of a goodbye before disappearing inside the airport.

An hour later Rose was no longer Tracy Lord. Her blonde hair had been dyed red and she’d had matching extensions put in. Her colored contacts were tossed in the trash, her bruises were covered with make-up, and she had a new outfit, jacket and hat. Standing beneath a board listing the comings and goings of planes, she surveyed her immediate choices and one in particular stuck out to her. Luxembourg. Who would look for her in Luxembourg? Her decision made, Rose retrieved a passport from her bag and went to purchase her ticket.

“What name should I put the ticket in?” the attendant asked when she stepped up to the desk.

“Charles; Nora Charles.”

It was time to disappear and actually _learn_ something, rather than prove Mycroft’s criticisms of her right.


	30. Defining "Reasonable" Part 1

It had been an exhausting nine days, Maud reflected as the sleek black car pulled into the driveway of the townhouse. She had been very determined to go to a conference in Russia, unwilling to delegate the reading of her paper to anyone else. It was only supposed to be a five day trip; one there, three at the conference, one back. Weather and bomb threats, however, had a habit of derailing even the best laid plans. And with sick children awaiting her at home, and an increasing tired Mycroft keeping watch over them, it had been quite the trial to wait around Moscow for all impediments to her travel to be removed.

Taking her suitcase from the backseat of the car, she trudged up the front steps and unlocked the front door. The house was eerily silent and still and it felt as though illness was hanging in the air. Having sick people in a house always gave it a certain atmosphere that was difficult to describe but one knew it when they saw or felt it.

Hauling her suitcase upstairs, Maud deposited it in her room before going to check on the children, starting with her littlest. Carefully she opened the door of Rose’s room and peeked in, finding the little girl sleeping. She crossed the room and sat down gently on the bed, putting her hand to Rose’s forehead to check for fever. Rose felt cool, meaning she was on the mend and Maud let out a sigh of relief. It had been agony to be so far away when her babies needed her. As she moved to tuck the blankets more tightly around Rose, she noticed that a dressing gown sash was tied to the headboard. That seemed quite strange.

Her curiosity peaked, Maud looked for the other end of the sash, which appeared to be tied to something else since it wasn’t hanging loosely on the floor. With her hand she followed the sash and saw it disappeared under the covers. This was very strange indeed! Moving the duvet aside slightly, Maud found the other end of the sash was tied around Rose’s chest, the knot apparently behind the little girl’s back.

“Mummy?”

The tiny voice momentarily interrupted Maud’s utter confusion as she gave her little one a smile “Hello Baby,” she murmured before leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Are you feeling a little better?”

Rose nodded. “I’m glad you’re home Mummy, I missed you and Mycroft doesn’t rub my tummy the right way when it feels icky.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t home Baby, but I’m here now! I’ll give you all the tummy rubs you need and even some you don’t,” she offered with a smile before she frowned in thought. “My love, why are you tied up in your bed?”

The little girl blushed. “Don’t want to say,” she said softly. A finger traced the pattern on her duvet as she steadily avoided Maud’s gaze.

“Mummy won’t be mad at you Baby,” Maud promised.

Rose let out a soft sigh, slowly dragging her eyes back to look at her mother. “Mycroft told me if I didn’t stay in bed he was going to tie me to my bed so I _had_ to stay in it.”

To say Maud was surprised would be putting it very mildly indeed. Mycroft was certainly not the one that she would suspect of tying his baby sister to her bed! Though why Sherlock would Maud wasn’t sure either, but of her two boys, he was the far more likely to do something like this and have a perfectly silly explanation for it. Something along the lines of ‘Oh, it was only a game Mother!’ with Rose chiming in her agreement to save him from a scolding or possible spanking. But Mycroft? _Mycroft?!_ This simply did not make sense!

“Turn over for Mummy,” Maud instructed, getting up from the bed. As soon as Rose rolled onto her tummy she undid the knot that secured the long dressing gown tie around the little girl’s chest, followed by the knot on the headboard. Now that she was looking at it, it _did_ look like Mycroft’s own dressing gown tie…

“Sweetheart, you wouldn’t lie to Mummy, would you? To try and get Mikey in trouble?” Maud questioned.

Her littlest baby shook her head emphatically _no_. “I’m telling the truth Mummy, it really was My! He was _very_ angry with me,” Rose admitted, her face beginning to blush. “Did I just get Mycroft in trouble? Mummy, I don’t want to make him be in trouble!”

“Oh no my dear, you did nothing of the sort,” the Holmes matriarch hurried to assure Rose. “Mycroft managed it all by himself. Why don’t you take Teddy downstairs and put in a movie for yourself, alright? I’ll be down soon and watch with you.”

“And rub my tummy?” Rose asked hopefully.

Maud nodded and brushed her fingers through her daughter’s curls. “Of course Baby.” Upon hearing her agreement, Rose threw her arms around her mother and nestled close. She took a deep breath, or tried to, of Maud’s perfume, finding it comforting, but was only able to smell a tiny bit before coughing once more.

“Alright, go downstairs now,” Maud said after a moment. “We’ll have more cuddles soon, alright?” She watched with a smile as Rose left her room and headed for the stairs. The smile left her face however as she began searching for her eldest son. Considering that Mycroft hadn’t immediately come to greet her at the door meant that it was unlikely he was anywhere downstairs. Even if he had been busy in his study, she would have heard him in there.

Exiting Rose’s room, Maud made her way towards Mycroft’s. She knocked loudly on the door, waited a moment or so, and then entered. The room was darkened by the blinds and her son appeared to be just waking up.

“Mother?” Mycroft called from the bed. “You arrived safely I see, I…”

Maud wasted no time on the pleasantries and got straight to the point. “Mycroft Edwin Darcy Holmes, did you _tie_ your baby sister _to her bed_ with your very own dressing gown tie?!” Her eyes narrowed when Mycroft did not immediately deny the charge and she began to tap her foot impatiently.

“I did, yes,” Mycroft finally replied. He was exhausted; so much so that he couldn’t even summon the stamina to sound indignant.

“Mycroft, how could you? She is little and ill! What if she needed the loo? Or what if there was a fire? What in the _world_ was going on in that head of yours?!” Maud demanded.

“If she had truly tugged on the knot securing the tie to the headboard it would have given way and allowed to her escape fire or whatever else she might need to do,” Mycroft stated.

“That is no excuse Mycroft! Why would you even find such an idea acceptable?”

Mycroft gave his mother a hard look. “Do you have _any_ idea what the past few days have been like? I promise you, it was perfectly reasonable!”

“Was it really now?” Maud challenged, hands on her hips. “Please, eldest son, tell me how in the world you define this as _perfectly reasonable_ because my definition does not consider it so!”

\---------------------------------------

_Six Days Prior_

Mycroft Holmes found himself wondering more and more often just what sort of world they all lived in. Delicate trade agreements; arguments over arming this faction or that faction in one particularly chaotic region or another were just the beginning of the things that caused him to wonder at the world he worked so hard to keep from imploding. Then there were questions of why the prime minister shook this man’s hand 4.5 seconds longer than that other man’s and does that mean the UK likes Israel more than Pakistan, or why did that get to speak three minutes longer than the other and who got the cheese tray first at the Parliament luncheon. So trivial and banal, yet so very telling about the sort of chaotic and selfish mess the world was hurling towards. He mentally mused whether or not the world agreed with him, considering the downfall of rain of as of late. Was it weeping for the general deterioration of mankind as much as he metaphorically did?

Thus it was always a relief to go home at the end of the day, where it was a rare day instead that he wondered what the world was coming to while at home. Except today, apparently, was going to be one of those rare days, as evidenced by the sight that greeted him as he drove slowly down the street towards the townhouse. What first appeared to be people having far too much fun waving their umbrellas around uselessly soon revealed itself to be a situation much more complex and far more inexplicable than that. So inexplicable, in fact, that Mycroft was forced to stop the car and stare at it before the situation could be fully grasped.

There by the curb were two sets of bouncy pigtails, one dark and one red, belonging to very energetic little girls who were hopping on and off the curb, jumping and kicking in the puddles alongside the curb, waving their umbrellas in what seemed to be too coordinated of an effort to be a spontaneous burst of dancing. The umbrellas seemed to serve little use as anything other than props, considering how soaked the two girls looked their suits pasted to their bodies in that way only thoroughly soaked clothing can.

Mycroft frowned and blinked a few times. Suits? That couldn’t possibly be right. Yet, sure enough, they were in fact wearing suits, with no hats on their heads or shoes on their feet, soaked to the bone on an October day with a temperature of merely 10 degrees Celsius.

Groaning loudly at the sight before him Mycroft put the car back in gear and proceeded carefully down the street to park in the driveway of the Holmes townhouse and it was only then that he spotted the third member of the trio, who had had no doubt would be close by and somehow participating in this lunatic attempt to… to… Well if he was honest with himself he really had no idea what this nonsense was about at all. But sure enough, there was Sherlock, sitting across the street in a neighbor’s yard with a video camera pointed at the exuberant little girls.

As he pulled the car into the drive, the two girls turned towards him and began waving happily at him, clearly pleased with themselves and whatever it was they were attempting to do. “Is there no common sense to be found among the lot of you?!” Mycroft bellowed as he stepped out of his car. “Get inside the house this minute! SHERLOCK! Don’t you even _think_ about sneaking off,” he added. The flush of red on his brother’s face told him that Sherlock had been at least contemplating that very thing and Mycroft felt satisfied that he had called him on it.

Opening the front door of the townhouse he stepped inside and moved out of the way for his soaked siblings, and Louise, to come inside. “It is October; it’s chilly and raining, what in the world were you three doing out there?” Mycroft demanded, hands on his hips.

“We were making a present for Mummy!” Rose chirped, still grinning.

The red pigtails bounced as Louise nodded her agreement and then added, “We were recreating the Singin’ in the Rain bit from her favorite movie.”

“Only we couldn’t tap because I couldn’t find my shoes and it would look silly if Louise had shoes and I didn’t, so we decided not to tap and have bare feet,” Rose went on. “But we were doing very well Mycroft, Mummy will be so excited for her birthday because she loves that movie so much _and_ she loves when I dance!”

“Except now you’re both soaked to the bone and likely to get sick! At least Gene Kelly had the common sense to wear shoes and a hat and film in a studio backlot,” Mycroft ground out. “And you sanctioned this Sherlock?”

Sherlock shrugged a bit. “It’s a lovely idea Mycroft. Mother will in fact enjoy it.”

“She will not enjoy it when you all die of pneumonia in two weeks time! Now you girls go upstairs and take off those wet clothes while I run a bath in Mother’s en suite,” Mycroft directed. “Louise, I’m calling your mother and Rose, you had best find your tap shoes because they were _not_ cheap and someone is going to be a _very_ sorry little girl if I have to replace them!”

Just as the girls turned to scurry upstairs and do as they were told for once, it suddenly dawned on Mycroft why the suits they had donned in their Gene Kelly impersonation attempt looked so familiar… because they were _his_. “Stop right where you are Rosenwyn Holmes!” he ordered.

The two six-year-olds he had mentally labeled Double and Trouble, because they were, stopped in their tracks and turned around slowly to face a very angry looking Mycroft. “Why are you wearing my suits, Rosenwyn? Do we take things in this house that don’t belong to us?”

Rose began shuffling her feet just a bit before responding. “Well… I don’t have any suits My, and you have lots and lots of them. I didn’t think you’d miss them very much.”

“Don’t worry Mr. Holmes, we made sure we took old ones before we cut them,” Louise volunteered.

“Before you WHAT?!” Mycroft took hold of Rose’s arm and pulled her over to him in order to inspect the trouser leg. He knelt to look at them and, sure enough, the legs had been cut haphazardly in order to keep from dragging under Rose’s feet.

“It’s an old one My. You haven’t worn it in ages and ages and it was way far back in your closet,” Rose said quietly, as she watched his face go red. “I didn’t think you’d mind very much and Lou agreed with me.”

“I did,” Louise chirped. “We discussed it very thoroughly.”

Mycroft took a deep breath, willing himself not to shout at Rose. “Rosenwyn… I wore that suit _yesterday_ ,” he finally said.

Rose went pale, her eyes growing wide with alarm. “… Oh,” she whispered.

“Oh indeed,” Mycroft replied ominously. Before Rose could think to run off, he tightened his hold on her arm and pulled her towards him.

“No, no, My no!” Rose protested. She did her best to wiggle away but Mycroft soon had her tucked under his left arm while his right hand fell hard on her bottom.

“We. Do. Not. Take. Things. That. Don’t. Belong. To. Us.” The eldest Holmes emphasized each word with a searing swat, made all the more harsh for the fact that Rose was very wet indeed.

“Ow ow ow!” she squealed. A spanking a wet bottom hurt _loads_ more than a regular spanking!

Mycroft released her after that brief lecture and pinned her with a very stern look as Rose stood there, rubbing the sting from her bum. “Consider that the opening act of the spanking you’re going to get for ruining my suits! Now go upstairs and get out of those clothes while I run your bath.” He couldn’t help but notice, with some satisfaction, that both little girls put their hands protectively over their bottoms before running up the staircase.

It was Sherlock who next felt himself under scrutiny as he stood there still dripping wet on the carpet of the entry way. “In my defense, they’d already cut your suits before I heard even a peep about their idea for Mother’s birthday present. It was a very thoughtful and creative present and I wasn’t going to let them stay out for a very great length of time,” he explained.

“Any length of time spent outside, soaked to the skin in October is too long Sherlock!” Mycroft’s tone was laced with exasperation. “Go get out of those clothes and get into the shower. The last thing I want to tell Mother when she calls this evening is that you and Rose are both desperately ill. Consider yourself grounded from experiments for the next 48 hours.”

Sherlock looked completely aghast. “Forty-eight hours?! Mycroft, that’s too long, you know I have things that I’m working on and they can’t wait that long.”

“Then perhaps you should have been paying more attention to those experiments and less time making a recording of Rose and Louise giving a demonstration of how to catch pneumonia without really trying,” Mycroft responded in a stern tone. “I will make it 72 hours if I hear even the tiniest note of complaint from you. Now go upstairs!”

With an epic pout, Sherlock stomped all the way upstairs and slammed the bathroom door behind him.

\--------------------------------------------------

“Mycroft, I’m so sorry,” Eleanor said. She tried very hard to sound sincere but was nearly doubled over with laughter at the thought of the little girls cutting his trouser legs and dancing in the rain. “They’re just precious aren’t they? Little darlings.”

“Oh yes… _precious_ ,” Mycroft ground out, a look of pain on his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, truly,” Eleanor tried again. “Of course Andrew and I will pay for a new suit. Those trousers are beyond repair unless you feel like walking round with a seam across your knee. I imagine that you’d prefer not to.”

Mycroft cocked an eyebrow. “Quite.” He could just see in his peripheral vision the two little girls peeking around the corner of the hallway, uncertain if they should draw attention to themselves or go back to hiding from him.

“Louise Christine Gardiner, come here and apologize to Mycroft for ruining his suit,” Eleanor said firmly. “I know you know better than that.”

The two girls look at one another and reached for each other’s hands before emerging fully from the hallway. “Sorry Mr. Holmes. We really didn’t think you’d mind,” Louise said shyly, her face nearly as red as her hair. “I’m sorry I cut your suit.”

“That’s very nice,” Eleanor praised, giving her daughter an encouraging nod. “Now give Mycroft a hug.”

The little girls looked at the woman with wide eyes. “Mummy, Mr. Holmes doesn’t _like_ hugs,” Louise said in a loud whisper.

“Louise, everybody likes hugs,” Eleanor laughed. “Give him a hug and then we’re going.”

Mycroft’s eyebrow rose. “Really that’s--” Before he could even complete his protest, the redheaded six-year-old threw her arms around him and repeated her apology. He scrunched up his face in displeasure but patted her head awkwardly and murmured, “Apology accepted.”

After seeing Louise and her mother to the front door he turned back towards Rose, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest. Mycroft watched as her gaze immediately went to the floor. Within seconds all her other ‘I’m in trouble’ habits appeared: the shuffling feet and biting her lower lip. The silence filled the entry as he watched her squirm, before finally speaking.

“Oh Rose,” Mycroft sighed. “You are the most mind-boggling child and sometimes I have absolutely no idea what to do with you.” He rubbed his hand over his face and let out another sigh.

“I know,” Rose said in a tiny voice.

“And what is your suggestion then?” Mycroft enquired.

Rose raised her head up to look at him and said, “Just love me. That is all.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes but uncrossed his arms and held them out for her. Predictably, Rose launched herself at him and he was forced to catch her before she fell onto the floor. He held her close, letting her wrap little arms around his neck. “Did your bath warm you up sufficiently? Or do you require hot liquids? I am going to be extremely displeased if you end up deathly ill after today’s little escapade.”

“I can’t choose if I get sick or not,” Rose reminded him. “But I’ll try not to. I think I’m all warmed up, but if we have some soup left from yesterday I would like some, please. Then I will be very warm inside and out!”

“I suppose I could manage to heat some up for you,” Mycroft agreed as he carried her in the direction of the kitchen. “Just keep in mind that this is only delaying the bottom warming you’ve earned.”

“My!” Rose whined, cuddling closer. “It was for a very good cause. For Mummy!”

“There are plenty of other things you could do for Mother’s birthday that do not require cutting my suit trousers or prancing around barefoot in the rain, soaked to the skin in _October_ ,” Mycroft scolded lightly. “That is certainly not what I pay extravagant sums of money for you to do with what you learn at dance lessons.” When they entered the kitchen he set Rose on her feet before locating the soup in the fridge.

“Louise and I didn’t finish. We were very close, but then you drove by and ruined it,” Rose informed him, a hint of exasperation in her tone. “You’re not going to let us finish it, are you?” She gave him a Sherlock-worthy pout, hoping it would change his mind but knowing in all likelihood that it wouldn’t. He was, after all, Mycroft.

“Of course not!” Mycroft replied, returning her look with a frown. “And no amount of pouting will cause me to change my mind. I will, however, help you find something else for Mother that is related to her very favorite film. Will that do as the next best option?”

“I suppose. How soon is Mummy coming home from Russia? Someday I want to go with her and hear all about the important things she writes,” Rose commented. “She’s very smart isn’t she?”

“Mother is indeed very smart,” Mycroft confirmed as he warmed up the soup in the microwave. “And you will never go to Russia if I can possibly help it. I’d prefer Mother didn’t go either.” Russia could be such a volatile country at times! “Mother will be home in two days, which gives us plenty of time to order her something and have it sent us in time for her birthday. Now eat up and then we have business to take care of.”

Thirty minutes later Rose dragged her little feet off towards Mycroft’s study with her brother close behind. She had taken just as long as she possibly could to eat but finally all her soup was gone and there was no reason to defer her coming punishment.

“Rose you’re not facing an execution,” the eldest Holmes pointed out. “Pick up your feet and walk properly, if you please.”

“Maybe I don’t please!” Rose retorted.

 _Lovely_ , Mycroft thought to himself. It was going to be one of those days where she would throw a strop of epic proportions and merely get herself into more trouble rather than stave off the spanking entirely.

“That’s entirely too much attitude from a little girl about to go over my knee,” Mycroft said firmly. Entering the study, he immediately went to sit in his desk chair, pushing it back a bit from the desk and waved her over to him. Rose didn’t budge, and he could tell she was debating between being cooperative and having a tantrum.

“Rosenwyn, stop dallying and come here,” Mycroft said sternly. “This honestly can’t come as much of a surprise to you, considering what you did and the fact that I’ve warned you this was coming several times since I interrupted your little reenactment. Now come here.”

“Don’t want to,” Rose huffed. “You’re mean and awful. I was just trying to make a present for Mummy!”

“Cutting up my suit trousers did not have to be involved in your present making scheme, nor do I think Mother would appreciate your destruction of my property being attributable to her gift,” he pointed out. He watched as her eyes darted back and forth between him and the door, as if she was calculating the chances of escape.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her. “If you make me hunt you all over this house I will spank you every single night for a week with Mother’s spoon. Do you want that? I don’t think I would if I were you.” It was an idle threat for the most part, though it wouldn’t be the first time someone in the Holmes household had such a punishment. Sherlock was so unmanageable as a child! He still was in all honesty.

He was pleased to see Rose move closer to him and further away from the door. “You are trying my patience young lady. Come here Rosenwyn, right now, or I’m going to start counting…. One… Two…” Just before he said ‘three’ Rose stomped all the way over to his desk. Mycroft rolled his eyes at her dramatics but chose not to comment on it; it really hadn’t been _that_ big of a strop after all. “Rosenwyn, why are you going to get a spanking? And before you even _think_ about it, the correct response is not because I am ‘mean’ or any other adjectives you may be contemplating.”

Rose’s face flushed, indicating she had been thinking along those very lines. “Because I cut up your trouser legs and was playing in the rain in October,” she answered glumly.

“We don’t damage the property of others in this house, do we young lady?”

She shook her head no and, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact with him, began staring at the floor.

“Alright then, over my knee and we’ll get this done with,” Mycroft instructed. He helped Rose over his lap and adjusted her so that her bottom was directly over his right knee. Lifting her nightgown out of the way, Mycroft pulled her pants down to her knees, ignoring the sniffling that commenced. He rested his palm on her bottom, disconcerted yet again that it covered nearly the whole of it. Rose was so tiny and delicate and he _hated_ making her cry, even when it was a well deserved spanking like this one.

With an inward sigh, he raised his right hand and brought it down sharply across the center of her cheeks a few times before picking up a rhythm and systematically spanking each globe from crest to crease.

Rose never really felt the need to be stoic and thus made no attempts to do so. “Ow! Ow My! Owowowowow!” she protested. It wasn’t very long at all before she began twisting and squirming, attempting to move her bottom out of harm’s way and was, as always, disconcerted when that did not work.

“We _do not_ take things that don’t _belong to us_ and _destroy them_ ,” Mycroft lectured, emphasizing certain words with sharp swats to her sit spots. He cringed as she yelped in response to the attention that tender area was receiving, but didn’t allow it to deter him. “That is _disrespectful_ and _rude_ and not allowed. And for another thing, _you’re not allowed to play with scissors_!” That last was said with a volley of hearty swats to her cheeks.

“Owwwwiiiiieeee!” Rose cried out. She added kicking to her efforts to escape as tears started streaking down her face.

“Don’t you remember that lesson Rose? You and Louise _both_ are _not allowed_ to play _with scissors_ because you do _naughty things with them_!” Mycroft continued on with his scolding. Last time it had been their hair they had cut, this time his trouser legs, god only knew what they might decide to attack with scissors next time!

It was getting harder and harder to block out the sound of her distress. Her bottom had gone from pale to lightly pink and was tending towards red now and Rose was crying steadily. Time to finish up then, he decided. Raising his hand a little higher and adding more of a snap to his wrist, he amped up the spanking a notch, adding to the color of her cheeks.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, sorry, I’ll be good!” Rose pleaded, throwing her little hands behind her.

Mycroft pushed them away and turned his attention to her upper thighs. A dozen good smacks to that tender area and Rose was sobbing heavily, almost limp over his lap, her tiny hands grasping his trouser leg for dear life. Immediately he ended the spanking and began the soothing, his hand rubbing circles on her back. “Alright Rose, all done. We’re all done and you’re forgiven, I promise. Shhh, you’ll be alright,” he assured her.

When Rose’s sobs abated just a bit Mycroft gently pulled her pants back up and let her nightgown fall back into place before gathering her in his arms for a cuddle. “There there, you’ll be alright. I love you very much, do you know that?” Mycroft asked in a soothing tone. “Even when you do very ridiculous things I love you and always will. I know you’ll make better choices next time _and_ leave any and all scissors alone, won’t you?”

Rose’s face was pressed against his shoulder, her tears wetting the fabric. She gave a brief nod, evident by the shifting of her curls and the brief movement he could feel. “‘m sorry My, ‘m sorry,” she whimpered, still crying softly. “I’ll buy you a new suit and everything and it really, really hurts!”

“I know it hurts,” Mycroft said softly, beginning to rock her in his arms. “It’ll feel better by morning, poppet. You’re my very good girl. Are you sleepy?” he asked as her tears slowed down. “Should we go upstairs and rock?”

Another little nod and tousle of curls indicated she liked that idea.

“Don’t tell Sherlock,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“Will he make fun of you?” Rose asked. She turned her face away from his shoulder just a bit as she waited for his answer.

“Probably,” Mycroft admitted. “But I’ll risk it, just for you.” Cradling her in his arms, trying to keep as much pressure off her sore bottom as he could, the eldest Holmes carried the littlest upstairs to her room. The rocking chair that had featured so prominently in her nursery had remained in the little girl’s room, a favorite place for a cuddles and story time.

Sitting down in the rocking chair, Mycroft settled her on his lap, expertly positioning her for maximum cuddle and minimal discomfort for her well-spanked bottom. Rose snuggled against his chest, one hand holding on to his waistcoat and within moments was fast asleep. Mycroft continued to hold her and rock her for another fifteen minutes before tucking her into bed. “Sleep well poppet,” he whispered before kissing her cheek. After fondly brushing her unruly curls from her face, he quietly exited the room.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Barely had twenty-four hours passed before Rose began to show signs that she was coming down with something. Her normally sunny nature was shed in favor of being cranky and sluggish, with intermittent spurts of coughing. Having already been warned by Mycroft that he would be displeased if she became ill, Rose tried to hide the coughing and upset stomach and managed to do so until the night before Maud was due home. Unfortunately for Rose, she wasn’t very good at hiding it from Sherlock, who knew her all too well.

“Rose, if you’re sick we need to tell Mycroft so he can take you to the doctor. They never pay any attention to me because I don’t have proper paperwork,” Sherlock explained. Being seventeen was particularly trying at times such as these because Mother couldn’t submit the legal paperwork necessary to allow him to make medical decisions should such an emergency arise. Though this was not yet an emergency, but he was growing concerned as the coughing fits started coming more frequently and sounded both wet and raspy at the same time.

“Don’t tell him Sherlock, he’s going to be mad at me and I don’t want him to be mad,” Rose explained with a pout as she snuggled in his arms. “And Mummy will be home tomorrow and she won’t be mad at me if I’m sick.”

Sherlock sighed heavily and wrapped his arms tightly around her “The cough syrup hasn’t been helping much and you’ve been very sleepy the past day. We really should tell Mycroft and I don’t think he will be angry with you. Or with me.” He, too, had begun coughing and neglected to tell their eldest brother who was conveniently kept busy until late at night with work. That made it all too easy for them both to slip by his notice.

Rose promptly burst into tears, pressing her face against his chest. “Yes, he will, he will! I don’t wanna get a spanking Sherlock! I want to wait for Mummy, please!”

Rubbing her back gently, Sherlock sighed. She hadn’t been running much of a fever and hadn’t yet coughed anything up, so it wouldn’t _really_ hurt to wait until morning. Mother was due back early and would undoubtedly cosset Rose to her heart’s content and keep Mycroft from scolding. “Shh, alright, alright, we’ll wait for Mother,” he soothed.

The world and their illness, however, began to conspire against them and their beleaguered eldest brother…


	31. Defining "Reasonable" Part 2

_4 Days Before Maud Returns_

Maud did not return home the following morning and called her eldest son to deliver the bad news. “Remind me never to complain about England’s weather again,” she said with a sigh. Outside her hotel room a snowstorm was blowing hard across the land, grounding every plane at every airport.

“Do you wish me to try and arrange alternate means of transportation for you? Or are you safely ensconced somewhere?” Mycroft asked, sounding a bit concerned.

“I’m quite fine Myc, I promise,” Maud chuckled. “Just give Rose and Sherlock a cuddle for me.”

Mycroft scowled at his mobile. “I’m not giving Sherlock a cuddle, nor would he accept one from me should I offer it, even at your behest.”

Maud sighed, rolling her eyes. “You two boys! Can you possibly manage to tell him I send my love, or is that also outside of your capabilities?”

“I do believe I could manage that,” Mycroft acquiesced. “Russia is making a tyrant out of you. Any other directives, Mother?” He smiled just a bit when he could hear her laughing. “I’ve got another call coming in Mother; I need to let you go. Contact me when the weather clears.”After saying their brief goodbye, Mycroft ended the call with Maud and answered the one from his PA.

“Sir, we have a situation,” Gaines said, skipping any form of polite greeting. “Philliber has disappeared and all available evidence suggests foul play.”

Mycroft cursed under his breath. Philliber was one of his best men and a necessary component of his intelligence gathering network. “The last report I received from him came from Moscow six hours ago. Was a calling card left by chance?”

“No sir, there wasn’t, but I suspect there will be one soon,” Gaines admitted.

“He didn’t by chance--”

“No sir, he and Mrs. Holmes never crossed paths.”

That was a relief at least. “Double the security on her at once and I want a full report of Philliber’s movements since his last report within one hour,” Mycroft ordered, ending the call. So much for a pleasant breakfast and being able to take Rose to school himself! This was precisely why he would never marry. The emotional entanglement could be compromising; it posed a security risk and the potential to be a weakness for other’s to exploit; and it was already difficult enough at times to stay well involved in Rose’s upbringing.

Between trying to locate his employee and keeping tabs on his mother, who continued to be stranded thanks to the weather, Mycroft spent the entire day at the office, arriving home just past 2am. He left his team tracking the movements of a Russian ballerina Philliber had been spending far too much time with, knowing they would contact him with any pressing information. It was beginning to look more and more like Philliber had either been kidnapped or killed and the ballerina was their best lead at present. The woman had questionable connections, but it was too early to draw any definitive conclusions. He fervently hoped his employee would be located and found at least in a recoverable condition, rather than in a condition of the more permanent kind.

Mycroft didn’t plan to sleep for long, just a few hours or so, but had sleep been his only objective, he would have stayed at the office. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept there! With Mother still detained, he felt it necessary to go home and check on his siblings. He hadn’t heard from either of them all day, which could be a good thing or a bad thing. Good because it meant Rose hadn’t misbehaved at school, bad because it might mean she was doing something she shouldn’t be at home, with Sherlock’s help. He hoped that it had been just an ordinary day and he would find Rose at least sleeping peacefully.

After putting his briefcase and other things in his study, Mycroft climbed the stairs to the second floor and went straight to Rose’s room, easing the door open quietly. Sure enough, she was fast asleep, though she’d managed to kick her covers halfway off the bed. Smiling to himself, he entered the room with the intention of tucking her in snuggly so she didn’t get cold. As it was, he could tell she was shivering a bit. After picking up the blanket, Mycroft tucked it tightly around her and reached over to brush a curl from her face. As his fingertips brushed her skin Mycroft could feel heat radiating from it and placed his hand on her forehead, quickly determining that she was burning up with what was likely a very high fever.

At just that moment Rose coughed; it was a loud hacking cough, followed by a wheezing sound that Mycroft found unnerving. He was about to wake her up when he was spared the effort.

“Mummy?” Rose’s tiny, sleepy voice asked.

“Mother is still in Russia, there’s a very big storm,” Mycroft responded, rubbing her shoulder. “How long have you been sick?”

Rose’s eyes fluttered open and settled on her big brother. “’m not sick,” she murmured.

“I wager you are indeed sick, little miss,” Mycroft sighed. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? Has Sherlock been taking care of you?”

“Sometimes. He’s sick too,” she admitted. Rose reached for him and smiled when Mycroft lifted her up in his arms.

“You’re burning up and you don’t sound very good at all. I think we’ll have to go to hospital and get you sorted out. I’m going to check on Sherlock and then we’re all going in,” he explained, dropping a kiss on top of her curly head.

She gave him an anxious look before nuzzling her face against his neck and mumbling something. “Rose, I cannot hear you. Try again,” Mycroft requested.

Rose moved her face away from his neck just long enough to ask, “You’re not mad at me?”

That really wasn’t any clearer than when she was mumbling! “Why in heaven’s name would I be angry with you? Did you do something naughty that I’m not aware of?” Mycroft could feel her shake her head no.

“You said you’d be displeased if I got sick,” Rose explained, holding onto him just a little tighter.

“Well of course I’d be displeased. It’s incredibly inconvenient for me when you get sick,” he explained with a sigh. The words about inconvenience were said with just enough affection in them to get a smile out of her. “Is that why nobody told me you were ill?” Once again Mycroft could feel her nod, her curls tickling his jaw line. “Well that was incredibly silly. Grab Teddy and then we’ll go check on Sherlock together.” He could tell he wasn’t going to get her out of his arms again without a tremendous fight, so it was really best not to bother.

As soon as the beloved stuffed bear was plucked up from the tangle of covers, Mycroft headed down the hallway to Sherlock’s room, knocking quietly before letting himself in. Sherlock was, of course, wide awake and in the midst of a coughing fit when they arrived. “Sherlock, you little idiot, why didn’t you call and tell me you both were ill?” Mycroft half-growled at his brother.

“Don’t growl, you’ll upset the baby,” Sherlock replied. “And she wouldn’t let me call you! She wanted to wait for Mummy because she thought you’d be angry.”

Mycroft leveled a deadly look at his brother. “And just what did the big bad six-year-old say she was going to do you if you didn’t obey her?” he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’re an idiot Sherlock, and she is _not_ the boss of you.”

“Sure I am,” Rose giggled softly. The laughter quickly turned into coughing.

“And how bad off are you?” Mycroft asked the middle Holmes. He reached out to feel Sherlock’s forehead, only to have his hand batted away.

“Low grade fever, mucus producing cough, occasional wheezing, and my chest feels ‘heavy’ and aches. In all fairness, I was not this bad this morning,” Sherlock assured his older brother. “Things progressed at an unexpected pace. I believe we both have bronchitis, if not tending to pneumonia soon in Rose’s case.”

Mycroft’s lips thinned with anger as he slapped the back of Sherlock’s head, hard.

“What was that for?!” Sherlock asked, before pouting and rubbing his head.

“Because you’re a fool, that’s why! For god sakes, why didn’t someone _call me_ as you’ve been instructed to do?!” Mycroft exclaimed irritably, his face clouded with anger. He fully intended to continue scolding his younger brother but a little whimper from Rose made him take a deep breath and rein himself in. Sometimes he forgot how sensitive she was to raised, angry voices and instantly felt guilty for not keeping a firmer hold on his temper.

“Never mind all that for now. Get your coat and shoes Sherlock, we’re going to hospital,” Mycroft instructed as he soothingly rubbed Rose’s back.

\------------------------------------------------------

A short time later the Holmes family found itself in a hospital exam room with two beds, one of which was reluctantly occupied by Sherlock, and the other Mycroft was merely sitting on as Rose continued to cling to him like a vine. His hand continued to rub slow circles on her back as he waited with growing impatience for the doctor.

“I really ought to soundly spank the both of you,” Mycroft commented, frustration evident in his tone. He sighed when Rose made a slight whining sound against his shoulder, which suggested he better clarify _why_ he was tempted to do so. “Not for being sick, but for not telling me. And I just might, too, when you’re both well again. Keep that in mind; perhaps it will convince you both to be cooperative patients.” He rolled his eyes as his younger siblings gave him identical pouts in response to his threat.

The doctor arrived shortly thereafter and set up both younger Holmes siblings for x-rays and blood work after a brief examination. It seemed like hours before the man returned, or at least it did to Mycroft who was forced to continue holding a clingy Rose. Rose had two sets of behaviors whenever she was ill: one was to cling incessantly and the other was to wander. The latter generally occurred due to boredom or because she was beginning to feel better. Mycroft fervently hoped that Mother would be able to return home soon because he wasn’t entirely convinced he could care for Rose all on his own, without someone to share the cuddle and corralling duties.

Just as Mycroft wished for some assistance his mobile vibrated inside his suit coat pocket. “I think Mother is calling,” he murmured. He shifted Rose a bit in order to retrieve it and as soon as he saw the ID of the caller, his heart sank. It was his PA, Gaines, and if she was calling at this time in the morning, which was nearly 4am by this point, it was either to be good news or very, very bad news.

“Hold just a moment,” he said, answering the call. Mycroft put the mobile down for a moment and stood up, still holding Rose. “It’s not Mother. Take the baby,” he murmured, deftly passing her over to Sherlock.

“’m not a baby,” the half-asleep Rose murmured.

“Certainly you are,” Sherlock told her with a chuckle. He cuddled her tightly to his chest, smiling as she wrapped an arm around his neck. Even running a fever himself he could feel how high Rose’s currently was and instantly regretted not contacting Mycroft sooner. He’d deserved the slap upside his head he’d got earlier, and several more good ones besides.

“You’re the baby because you were born last of us all and we like you that way,” he explained. Not to mention the fact that Mycroft certainly _acted_ as if she were his baby, even if the eldest Holmes did sternly reprimand anyone who dared to identify him as her father.

“I’m not going to be pleased with your news, am I Gaines?” Mycroft asked.

“No, sir, unfortunately not,” Gaines admitted. “Philliber and his ballerina are dead and there’s a serious bomb threat should airplanes be released anytime soon. Potentially multiple bombs, headed for London as soon as the weather clears.”

That was about the worst possible news at that moment. His mother was in Russia and had the very real potential of getting onto a plane with a bomb, terrorists were threatening London and god only knew why, plus he had two sick children to care for. “Enact the plans for Critical Level 9 and set up what amounts to a battle station at the townhouse. We’ll use the basement office and people can take over the dining and sitting rooms as need be.”

“At the townhouse sir?” Gaines asked.

“Yes. Rose and Sherlock are both ill and I am, apparently, on my own with them.” This was going to be an unmitigated nightmare, he was certain of it. “Unless there is a way to clone me that’s the only option we have.”

The younger Holmes siblings shared a look of abject horror at the mere thought of more than one Mycroft in the world. “I think that’s a very bad idea and I don’t like it,” Rose decided, giving a sleepy pout.

“I’m quite certain you don’t,” Mycroft agreed, giving Rose a look. “Seeing as how it would mean you’d been forced to behave yourself on a more regular basis.”

“Sorry?” Gaines asked.

“I was talking to Rose, not you,” he hurried to reassure her. “I’ll be back home as quickly as I can, get things working without me until then.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

An hour later Mycroft returned home with his patients in tow. He was thankful he had discovered they were will when he did, or Rose might have ended up hospitalized with pneumonia. He carried her into the house, glad she was half-asleep… or rather she had been until she saw the bustle of activity.

“What’s going on?” Rose asked, opening her eyes wide to survey the scene. “Why are these people here? Are they your people?”

“They are and you will not pay any attention to them at all, because you will be resting in bed until you are better. No wandering around, just resting,” Mycroft said firmly. “I need you to be very good for me, because I will be very busy. Can you manage that, do you think? For me?”

Rose let out a sigh. “What if I need you to rub my tummy? Or if I’m very, very bored and lonely?”

“Regardless of your needs, you will remain in bed. I will check in on you frequently and do my very best to take good care of you,” Mycroft assured her. “But you _will_ stay in bed if you don’t want a warm bottom in addition to your other miseries.” That was by and large an empty threat; he would have to be the worst ogre in the world to spank her while she was ill, but he hoped that she took him at his word and behaved accordingly.

Rose’s only response was an adorably sleepy half whinge, half murmur of consent. Sherlock, on the other hand, glared darkly at Mycroft, his look threatening the eldest Holmes with great bodily harm should he dare to spank sick little Rosie. Admittedly Mycroft knew that Mother wouldn’t approve, but she wasn’t exactly home to help him either, so hopefully the threat would do the trick.

Once upstairs, the siblings parted ways with Sherlock going to his own room with Mycroft carrying Rose into hers. The fact that she was half asleep worked in his favor, making it very easy to tuck her in. “You’ve had your medicine and I’ll come up and check on you soon. For now just worry about sleeping. If you need something, you can get Sherlock. He’s less sick than you are and he can get me if necessary, alright?”

She nodded, her eyes already closed, burrowing a bit deeper under the covers as he tucked them around her. “Night My,” Rose murmured when he bent to kiss her forehead, falling asleep before he even left the room.

\------------------------------------------------------

The next twelve hours went by in a blur and, thankfully, Rose stayed in bed for all of them. His PA cheerfully lent her assistance to check-in on the patients, warm up soups and other food that would be good for their sore throats and Rose’s upset stomach. Gaines was a godsend but she was not a child wrangler.

Rose, in fact, made it fourteen hours, most of which were spent sleeping, before she began her cycle of alternately clinging and wandering. It was the clinging that came first and she soon sought him out in his alternate, better equipped office in the basement. Thank god he’d thought to put one in a few years prior or they’d really be in a mess.

He looked over from a screen where he watched several of those in his employ searching a plane when he heard a little knock on the door. “Keep an eye on that,” Mycroft told Gaines before crossing the room to find his little visitor. “This is not your bed,” he said firmly. “What do you need, Rose?”

“My tummy is icky and it hurts,” Rose whimpered. “Will you rub it?”

Mycroft’s eyes flickered back and forth between the screen and his sister before Gaines waved him off. “Did you ask Sherlock first?” he asked, even as she picked Rose up.

“He’s sleeping, he’s sleeping a lot more than I am,” she explained, nestling close. “Can we use Mummy’s lotion? It smells so lovely, just like her.”

“Do we have to? I don’t particularly fancy the idea of smelling like flowers for the next few hours,” he admitted. The sad look on Rose’s face told him that yes, he did have to.

Within a few moments the lotion had been retrieved and Rose was lying on top of her covers. She moved her pajama top away from her belly, exposing it for a soothing rub… Only Rose looked positively horrified mere seconds later when Mycroft began to squirt a bit of lotion onto his hand. “Noooooooo,” she whined, pushing her shirt back down. “Do it like Mummy, My!”

His hand paused mid-squeeze of the bottle. “How am I doing it wrong? Put lotion on my hand, rub it on your stomach, you feel better and I smell like flowers. What’s the problem?” Mycroft asked, looking genuinely confused.

“Mummy squirts out little drops on my tummy and I laugh because it’s cold and _then_ she rubs the lotion in,” Rose explained. Her lower lip was already wobbling, indicating that her big brother had best not refuse her demands.

“Oh for heaven sakes,” Mycroft grumbled. “Fine, fine, fine. Please don’t start crying.” He pushed her top out of the way enough to begin squirting little drops of lotion on her stomach. It seemed to please her, and Rose even drew a smile out of _him_ when she smiled and gave a little giggle. Feeling quite pleased with himself for earning that giggle, Mycroft began to rub the lotion in.

“Too hard!” Rose immediately protested! “You have to do it softly like butterflies wings! Don’t you know anything?! Weren’t you ever sick in your whole life?”

“That is not an appropriate tone,” Mycroft responded, giving her a glare. “Sass me again and I won’t rub your stomach at all! Besides, this is wholly ridiculous and is little more than a ritual to make you feel better emotionally with no medicinal value whatsoever.”

His little patient promptly burst into tears. “I want Mummy! Bring Mummy home! You’re very awful Mycroft, I want Mummy!”

“What did you do?”

Mycroft turned to find a groggy Sherlock standing in the doorway. “You’re looking worse and worse, brother mine. Apparently I’m not doing... this… properly.”

“You’re an idiot Mycroft, go away,” Sherlock ordered. He promptly crossed the room and kissed Rose’s forehead. “Did big bad Mycroft not rub your tummy right?” He smirked when Mycroft sighed and got up to exit the room. “Can I try?” Softly he began ghosting his fingers across her stomach, slowly rubbing in the lotion. By the time he finished, Rose was nearly asleep once more.

Six hours later, Gaines returned from a brief respite in the guest room to find her boss in a state of command and authority while simultaneously looking perhaps the most domestic she’d ever seen him. His tie had been tossed haphazardly across the desk where it was joined by his waistcoat. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Mycroft was crouching beside a make-shift bed on the floor, whispering orders to various employees in Russian while bathing Rose’s face and arms with a cold flannel. It was rather refreshing to see him looking so human. No one would ever believe that Mycroft Holmes was capable of such gentleness, or at all willing to put together two couch cushions as a bed for his sister.

“Her fever spiked again,” Mycroft explained. “She keeps crying and clinging if I try and leave her in her room.” He shrugged his shoulders helplessly before pushing the bowl of cool water and flannel aside and picking Rose up once more. He rocked her in his arms, all the while keeping in contact with his people, until finally she was asleep once again.

\--------------------------------------------

_2 and ½ Days Before Maud Returns Home_

For all the sleeping she did, which Mycroft was quite thankful for, he knew they were in for another rough day or so before she began the wandering phase of her recovery process, born out of boredom and the oddest burst of energy. He didn’t understand it, not even Sherlock had been so clingy and prone to wander around getting into mischief when ill so where Rose inherited such nonsensical behavior from he had no idea.

Had his mother been home, she would have reminded Mycroft that _he_ often behaved that same way when he was little and became ill.

Whatever the cause it was decidedly difficult trying to manage the delicate operations under way, keep his mother well protected against any potential fallout of said operations, and have a tiny six-year-old clinging to him. He’d eventually given up the idea of keeping her on the make-shift bed while she was so determined to attach herself to him and so Mycroft moved the rocking chair from her room into his basement office. It was a damn good thing none of those he was in constant communication with over in Russia could see him! Mycroft was certain he looked like an absolute idiot: a rocking chair replacing his usual desk chair, Rose curled up in his lap all snuggled under a blanket, one arm wrapped around her to keep her from falling out of the chair while he issued orders in an attempt to keep the free world in order and simultaneously discover the culprits.

Gaines, however, thought it was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen and covertly took a photo of it with her mobile.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

_1 and 1/2 Days Before Maud Returns_

“Hello. I’m Rose. Who are you? Do you have a gun? Can I touch it? I want to fire a gun someday, can you teach me? I think that would be brilliant and then I could work for My when I grow up.”

A man in his early twenties looked up from the various images and documents he had been tasked with examining to see a tiny girl watching him intently. He hadn’t even known his boss _had_ a daughter. No, not daughter. Definitely not. He’d had his head bit off for that mistake the day before but really, what was he to assume when Mycroft Holmes of all people was being so… domestic with a child that looked so much like him, save the messy curls? Personally he found it disturbing, having never considered his boss fully human before, but apparently he was.

“Did you hear me? My throat is scratchy, sorry ‘bout that. I’m Rose and I want to play with your gun,” the little girl repeated.

“I don’t have a gun and my name is David Miller. Don’t you have somewhere else you should be? I’m trying to work here,” he pointed out. “Where’s your keeper?”

“Who, Sherlock? He’s sleeping. He hardly ever sleeps,” Rose explained. “So his body is making him sleep loads in order to get better, but I’m feeling better now and I’m lonely upstairs. Sleepy Sherlock is not good company. I bet I can help you with what you’re doing! I learn all sorts of things. Right now I’m teaching myself how to break coded messages. Next I want to learn about how engines work and then I’m going to drive a car with a very big engine. I haven’t figured out how to reach the pedals yet though.” She let out a little sigh of frustration. The trials and tribulations of being petite!

“And you do have a gun; I can see the outline of it. We’re not supposed to have firearms in the house, Mummy says. She had to say because Sherlock brought one home one time that he found somewhere and Mummy thought he might have taken it from a dead person and really can’t he just leave the police alone. But we’re not ‘llowed because they’re dangerous. I read a book two weeks ago called _Guns, Germs, and Steel_ about how the western world became homogenized. Have you read it? It’s quite good.” Rose stood on her tip toes, trying to see precisely what the man was doing on the dining table.

David stared at her for a moment, his mouth hanging open. “How old are you again? And if you aren’t allowed to play with firearms- a rule I never thought I’d actually hear recited by a child- why do you want mine? Which you can’t have, by the way.”

“Six! Nearly seven,” Rose clarified. “Just before Christmas time, which is the best time to have a birthday, because you get twice the presents! But all the things Mummy and Mycroft say aren’t allowed are the best fun and I’ve always wanted a gun. One of the old ones that the pirates had, because I’m a pirate sometimes, with a ship and everything! Sherlock is my first mate and he does a very good job.” She stood up as tall as she could and peered at the closest document. “That’s Russian, I know that language. It has very funny letters and I like writing it. Do you want me to tell you what it says?”

“ROSENWYN ARAMANTHA HOLMES!”

Rose’s eyes went wide as she turned her head in the direction of her brother’s bellow, watching him stalk into the dining room and put his hands on his hips.

“This is not where you belong and we’ve had this discussion five times today and god help you if you asked someone about a gun again!” Mycroft scolded. “Your bed is upstairs and your naughty bottom should be in it!”

Her face flushed red with guilt, but she gave her eldest brother a spectacular pout all the same. “But My, it’s very lonely upstairs and I haven’t got anything to do at all!”

Mycroft’s eyebrow quirked. “You have at least one hundred books in your bedroom alone, not to mention the very well stocked library we have in this home. I know for a fact you have not read every single book our family owns while recuperating.”

“Can I have a dog? Then I wouldn’t be lonely when I’m supposed to rest and then I’d be very good,” Rose pointed out.

That sounded familiar, at least in part. “No! You are exhausting enough, thank you very much! UPSTAIRS! BED! _NOW_!” He pointed towards the staircase to make certain she knew where to go, just in case she didn’t. When she let out a little bitty noise of protest at the raised voice, he absolutely refused to feel guilty about it at all.

Two hours later Mycroft found her out of bed yet again, standing on a chair with her head halfway in the freezer. “Rose, you are not having ice cream! We talked about that this morning. The dairy isn’t good for you right now and Gaines bought ice lollies for you instead. Will you please take one of those and go back to bed? Keep this up and I’ll tie you to your bed!”

Grabbing an ice lolly, Rose giggled at the threat and scooted out of the kitchen, keeping herself out of arm’s reach in case Mycroft should be tempted to smack her.

It was going to be a very long day, Mycroft thought. He could only hope that it wouldn’t be too many more days until things were returned to normal and Mother was home.

…Sadly for Mycroft, life just wasn’t going his way.

\------------------------------------------------

_12 Hours Before Maud Returns_

Mycroft was exhausted. Completely and utterly exhausted in a way no person should ever be. The crisis was nearly contained, and Mother would be home shortly thereafter since thanks to the weather clearing up, as would his people whom he intended to remove as soon as was humanly possible. Sherlock kept quiet and slept much of the time but Rose… Rose was everywhere but where she should be. Even now, as he stepped out of a much needed shower he could hear her.

“Bless your beautiful hide! Wherever you--” Rose was forced to stop singing by a round of coughing that wracked her slight body, reminding her that she was still recovering. Once it passed, she resumed singing along with a musical on the telly. “…But I’m a-willin’ to bet, you’re the gal for me!”

By the time Mycroft dressed and headed down to see what the hell she was up to now, Rose was amid another coughing fit, looking far more pale than he was comfortable with, and seemed to be having an argument with Gaines.

“You can’t be down here right now Rose,” Gaines scolded. “Nor should you be making such noise! Or singing and making yourself cough so much. Honestly, can you not give your poor brother a break?”

Rather than respond, Rose hurled a DVD case at Gaines while she continued to cough. It was only after the DVD case hit a lamp and nearly knocked it over, rather than hit its intended target, that she spotted Mycroft.

“You are so lucky you’re ill right now or you’d be getting that bottom soundly paddled,” Mycroft scolded. “You need to rest, not be singing, and not throwing things at people either. When are you going to get over this throwing business of yours?” He took a deep breath and counted to ten, trying to rein in his temper. “Apologizes to Miss Gaines.”

Shuffling her feet a bit, Rose turned to look at the PA once more. “Sorry I threw it at you,” she said quietly. While she might be lonely and bored out of her mind upstairs, Rose didn’t actually want Mycroft to be upset with her. Her heart sank when Mycroft crooked his finger at her, beckoning her over to him.

“You need to be resting Rose and doing as you’re told. I’ve had enough of this nonsense and I suggest you regard this as your very final warning,” Mycroft told her, his tone low and dangerous. He began to list her numerous instances of misbehavior, hoping to impress upon her how very close she was to getting spanked, sick or not.

“There will be no more singing, dancing, bothering my employees, trying to steal ice cream, attempting to make yourself lunch only to set a tea towel on fire _again_ , take and attempt to decipher documents you have no business even seeing let alone decoding, or anything else you can possibly come up with to be the most frustrating child in the history of the world!” Mycroft took a deep breath, not wanting to shout at her, even if it would be deserved. “If you get out of bed and start any of this nonsense again before Mother comes home, so help me god, I will tie you to your bed so you _have_ to stay there! Have I made myself quite clear to you?”

Her eyes wide, Rose nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll be very good Mycroft, I swear. I’m not trying to be awful and annoying,” she added, a bit of sadness in her tone.

“I know Rose. You are simply… you,” Mycroft murmured. “Come along, I think I can spare a few moments to read you a short story before I finish working.” Taking her hand in his, the siblings went back upstairs and settled into Rose’s rocking chair for a bit of story time.

\------------------------------------------------

_5 Hours Before Maud Returns Home_

The world had been set to rights once more. Mother was well on her way home, as were those in his employ, and the threat completely neutralized… at least until the next one! It had been far too long since he’d last slept a full night and over the past four days and some odd hours, had only slept about five hours during that time. Most of that five hours had been in chunks of 15-20 minutes that had refreshed him just enough to struggle on and Mycroft was looking forward to crawling under the duvet for a very long sleep.

Before turning in, Mycroft made his typical rounds of the house. Or at least he started to, when he heard a noise in the kitchen. He was really going to strangle that little girl one of these days! Heading into the kitchen, he spotted Rose attempting to make tea. He cleared his throat loudly, causing her to drop the kettle with a _bang_ and whirl around to stare at him like a deer in headlights.

“What are you doing? Didn’t we have this conversation about you the kitchen several times in the past forty-eight hours or so?” Mycroft asked, too tired to even growl at her properly.

Rose shuffled her feet, shifting her weight back and forth between them as she tried to decipher how mad he was. “Uh… err… well… uh…” she squeaked.

Mycroft sighed heavily. “Use your words Rose, preferably to tell the truth.”

“I was going to make tea for you,” Rose said in a tiny voice. “The special kind Mummy says helps people sleep, so you could have a very nice sleep.” Immediately upon confessing this her gaze dropped to the floor, which meant she missed the fond smile that graced Mycroft’s face for a brief moment.

“That was very thoughtful of you Rose,” he said sincerely. _Not that I want tea covered in coughing little girl germs_ , Mycroft mentally reflected. “However, you did not do what I asked you to do, did you? Didn’t I say you needed to stay out of the kitchen and especially away from mucking about with appliances?”

Keeping her head down still, she nodded.

“I swear Rose, you have left me very little choice,” Mycroft stated in a tired, yet exasperated tone. “You cannot manage to stay in bed all on your own and I wouldn’t put it past you to start another fire in a misguided attempt to be helpful and thoughtful so I’m going to do exactly what I said I would do.”

This time Rose’s head shot up, eyes wide, while her hands crept behind her to cup her bum protectively. “I don’t want a spanking,” she whimpered, her lower lip already beginning to tremble.

“I’m not going to spank you. I am, however, going to tie you to your bed so that you stay in it and I can get a few hours rest without worrying you’ll burn the house down around my ears while I’m at it,” Mycroft declared.

Five minutes later, Mycroft did precisely that, making certain the knot would pull free if she really tugged at it. After all, he didn’t want her to be stuck there should an emergency arise. Once it was tied around the bedpost, he then tied it around her, making sure to tuck the knot behind her so Rose wouldn’t fuss with it. He was a little bit proud at the way he’d stunned her into silence as she watched the whole process.

“I need to sleep before I collapse, you could use more sleep even if you don’t think you do, and I truly don’t want you injured because you’re running loose while I’m asleep,” Mycroft explained gently. “This isn’t a punishment,” he added. “It’s genuinely a safety precaution because I don’t have the energy to keep you out of trouble. I need a couple hours of sleep. You understand that, correct?”

Rose nodded. “I’m sorry I’m so much trouble,” she told him quietly, one finger idly tracing the pattern of her duvet.

“You’re worth every bit of it,” Mycroft whispered before he leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Try to sleep for me, alright? If you do in fact need something, shout for me and I’ll come straight away. You’re a good girl Rose, truly. You’re just also a Holmes and there’s really no helping that.”

That comment earned him a smile. “I’ll be good this time, promise. I love you My.”

He tucked in the covers tightly around her and smiled. “I love you too,” he said softly. “Sleep sweet poppet.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

_Present_

“So you see Mother, it was perfectly reasonable and it was in fact for her own safety. But above all, it was reasonable given the situation we found ourselves in and the fact that we still have a house that’s standing and all her limbs are intact and my head hasn’t exploded really ought to earn me a commendation of some sort,” Mycroft explained. “Surely you can see the logic of it Mother.”

Maud could only stare at her eldest son for a moment before enveloping him in a tight hug. “My poor Mikey,” she murmured. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough time, but I’m so glad you were here to take care of Rose and Sherlock.”

The eldest Holmes sibling couldn’t help frowning a bit as he was suddenly squished to his mother’s bosom against his will. Considering it was his mother, and he did love her very much, he didn’t put up a fuss about it, merely responding with a sigh. Besides, she wouldn’t stop until she was good and ready to finish the unwanted cuddle so what was the point of protesting?

Yet somehow, despite himself, Mycroft hugged her a bit in return. It was the exhaustion, he was certain of it!

Finally she pulled away, holding him at arm’s length. “I love you very much Mycroft, but listen to me very carefully, hm?” Maud requested. “While I admit the circumstances were a bit desperate and unusual, I do not under any circumstances condone your actions. But if you _ever_ do that to your sister again, I will take you into your own office and make you bend over your own desk for a hiding you won’t soon forget. Have I made myself quite clear to you?”

Mycroft could _feel_ the embarrassment on his face at being threatened in such a way; what made it worse was the fact that he didn’t doubt for even a second that she would follow through. Still, at his age, being threatened with physical chastisement? It just couldn’t be bourne! He opened his mouth to tell his mother just how inappropriate such a threat was…

“… Yes, Mother, you’re quite clear.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Mycroft frowned and blinked. That hadn’t been what he meant to say at _all_! Damn his traitorous mouth, and damn the cuddling too while he was at it!

Maud smiled at the look of confusion on his face, finding it a bit adorable really since she hardly ever saw him look that way anymore. She moved closer and kissed the top of his head. “Go back to sleep now Myc,” she said softly.

This time Mycroft didn’t even bother trying to protest her telling him what to do and merely did as he was told.

 


	32. I Will and We Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much angst to be found in this chapter, including the death of a character. Avoid if such things may be a trigger for you. This is a bit of a character study of Mycroft, if you will, as he assumes leadership of the Holmes family.

_Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep_

The monitor signaled loudly that vitals had been lost; the sound of it one that was exquisitely painful. It was a heartbreaking sound in fact and Mycroft rarely admitted he had a heart to break. He closed his eyes, as if doing so could make the sound stop. Really, he was merely closing them out of reverence, absolutely _not_ because there were tears stinging his eyes. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, someone quietly entered the room and turned off the machine. It was over.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept, or the last time he’d heard from his PA Gaines. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw Rose, or the last time he’d heard his mother’s voice. The last cup of he’d tea had, his last meal, the last time he heard anything but the gentle humming of medical equipment. For the past thirty-two hours almost without stopping, Mycroft had sat in this chair and held his mother’s hand; a hand that didn’t squeeze back and lied limply within his own. A hand that would soon be cold.

Mycroft wasn’t entirely certain how long he sat there with his eyes closed in the quiet of the room, waiting for the stinging in his eyes to pass. He would have sat there even longer had the sounds of quiet sobbing not forced him to look about the room. Sherlock’s chair, where he had sat vigil with his brother at their mother’s side, was empty. Its occupant was now kneeling on the floor, one hand still holding Mother’s, the other scrunching up the hospital blanket as he sobbed into it. Sherlock _never_ cried and the enormity of it closed in on the eldest Holmes, making it hard to breathe for a moment.

Well, _sometimes_ Sherlock cried, but it had generally been caused by a very serious spanking or caning. Not even as a toddler with a propensity to run into walls and other large objects, as if trying to conduct some sort of odd experiment before his brain could even understand that concept, Sherlock hadn’t cried. He was far more likely to scowl, shout at the offending object and kick it soundly than cry. And no spanking had ever made him cry like this. It was hollow, desolate, the very sound of pain itself.

Pushing aside his own pain and stinging eyes, Mycroft slowly let go of his mother’s hand and went around the bed to where Sherlock was kneeling. Without a word, he reached for Sherlock’s hands, placing his own on top of them, and squeezed hard. A moment passed, perhaps even three, before he felt reasonably confident in his ability to speak.

“Let go,” Mycroft said softly. “Let go of the blanket and hold on to me. I’m here, brother.” When Sherlock didn’t respond nor show any sign of letting go on his own, Mycroft gently tugged on his hands until finally Sherlock complied. Without waiting for an invitation, or allowing Sherlock to decide to take the initiative, Mycroft hugged him tightly. Part of him expected Sherlock to balk at the unsolicited physical contact and when he didn’t Mycroft wasn’t certain whether he should be relieved or worried. He held the younger Holmes tightly, allowing Sherlock to wrap his arms around him, and carded his fingers through his brother’s wild curls.

It had been quite some time since he had held Sherlock this way and Mycroft’s mind willingly wandered back through the memories to find those. He’d held Sherlock the day he came home battered and bloodied, having been caught by some bullies after school; after he’d given his brother a particularly severe caning for setting the house on fire; and after Father died. Sherlock had been so brave then, when Father passed, refusing to cry on Mother’s shoulder and add to her burden and grief. Instead, he’d turned to Mycroft late that night, coming to stand in the doorway of Mycroft’s room and cry, until he had pulled Sherlock inside and hugged him tightly, promising that everything would be ok. They had Mother, it would be alright, and they would take good care of Rose in Father’s stead.

This time he couldn’t promise that everything would be alright. Mother was gone and nothing was ever likely to be precisely alright from that point forward. Oh, Mycroft knew they would go on and continue to live their lives and adjust as necessary for Rose’s sake, be strong and brave for her, but it would never be the same version of ‘alright;’ it would be a new ‘alright’… eventually.

He had no idea how long he knelt by the bed and held his baby brother as he cried, but Mycroft’s knees throbbed in protest by the time Sherlock got himself under control and the two finally stood.

“I’m going for a walk,” Sherlock said, avoiding his brother’s gaze.

“A walk?”

Sherlock nodded curtly, his curls shifting slightly with the abrupt movement.

For Sherlock a walk in London could mean anything from an hour to an entire day and Mycroft wrestled with the idea of letting him walk out the door alone, particularly since it was past midnight. He had recently come to suspect that there was a problem, something Sherlock was trying to hide from him, but had been unable to investigate those suspicions thoroughly.

Before the younger Holmes brother could sweep out of the room in his great coat, Mycroft placed a hand in the middle of Sherlock’s chest. “Sherlock, look at me,” he said quietly. He waited until their eyes locked with one another before saying, “Promise me that you will refrain from doing anything stupid or harmful. Rose needs you…” His voice trailed off for a second, allowing Mycroft to take a deep breath before continuing. “And Ineed you.”

Sherlock swallowed audibly before nodding curtly once more.

“Say it Sherlock.”

“I promise.”

This time it was Mycroft who gave a curt nod, then allowed Sherlock to make his typical dramatic exit from the room.

\--------------------------------------------------

It was nearly 2:30 in the morning by the time things had been wrapped up at the hospital and Mycroft finally returned home. Unlocking the front door, he stepped inside and closed it quietly behind him. The silence of the house seemed to close in on him, making his chest feel tight and his shoulders heavy as if the weight of the whole world had been placed upon them; in many ways it had been. Mycroft leaned back against the door and took several slow, deep breaths to calm himself.

“Mycroft?”

The eldest Holmes looked up to find Eleanor Gardner, little Louise’s mother, descending the stairs. When things had neared the end, Eleanor had kindly volunteered to come and stay at the house for a few days with Rose. “I didn’t expect you to be awake,” he said quietly. His voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. “You weren’t required to keep vigil on this end.”

Eleanor smile softly. “I wasn’t. Rose has been very restless and anxious. I just finished tucking her in again after some chamomile tea.” Before he could respond, she moved closer and reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly within his own. “Is… Did she…”

Mycroft nodded. “A few hours ago. There were things to take care of before I could get away.”

“I’m so sorry,” Eleanor murmured, squeezing his hand again. “Where’s Sherlock?”

“Wandering London, hopefully staying out of trouble while doing so.”

The young man sounded so defeated and exhausted; the fact that Mycroft had not removed his hand from hers spoke volumes about his mental state in that moment. “If you need to go looking for him or need to get some sleep, I’ll be happy to stay up a while longer and make certain Rose falls asleep again.”

“No,” Mycroft responded. It was only then he realized the woman was holding his hand and scowled at their clasped hands. He didn’t need coddling and slowly removed his hand from Eleanor’s.

That scowl was much more like the Mycroft she knew, Eleanor thought to herself, and she took it as a promising sign. She had known him since the very first time he escorted Rose to her dance class in Maud’s place. Rose was only a wee thing back then, just three like Louise, and Eleanor remembered thinking that she had never seen a man more out of place than he. Mycroft, dressed in a suit that cost more than the lesson fees of all Rose’s fellow students combined, spent the entire time sitting among the parents and glowering silently at everything around him, including all the tiny ballerinas.

“No,” he repeated. “If she’s still awake I should see her. Please do stay the night in the guest room, however. It wouldn’t do to have you out so late at night.”

“I will,” she agreed. “But if there is anything you need after I leave in the morning, and I mean _anything_ at all, that Andrew and I can do for you or Sherlock or Rose, you must tell us.” When Mycroft nodded once more, Eleanor bid him goodnight and retreated back upstairs to the guest room.

Mycroft followed her up the stairs, stopping in front of Rose’s bedroom door. Slowly he opened it and, when it appeared she was sleeping, he began to close it until he heard her sleepy voice call for him.

“My? Is that you?”

Forgoing a verbal answer, Mycroft stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. He crossed the room and sat down on Rose’s bed and reached for her as his mind grappled with finding the right words to say that Mother was gone.

“My?” Rose’s voice cracked. She allowed him to pick her up and immediately cuddled close to him, scrunching his shirt up in her hands as if she needed to hold on to him even more tightly. “Is… is Mummy… Where’s Mummy?”

“Do you remember what we talked about when Mother went to hospital this time? That she might not come home again?” Mycroft asked softly. When she nodded, he continued on, saying, “She’s not coming home poppet. Mother passed away tonight.”

Rose burst into tears, the most heartbreaking tears Mycroft had ever heard and he immediately hugged her even tighter. “I know, poppet, I know,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, poppet. I’d give anything to bring her back to you. But I’m here, poppet; I’m here and you won’t _ever_ be alone. I promise you that, I _promise_.”

Getting up from the bed, Mycroft carried her to the rocking chair and sat in it, cuddling her tightly against him, rocking her as he said those words over and over again. He had no idea how many times he repeated those words, nor how long it took for Rose to cry herself to the brink of exhaustion before falling asleep in his arms. Long after she fell asleep, Mycroft sat there holding her and rocking her, his mind racing with the enormity of raising her completely alone.

For some time he had been the main parental figure in her life, as Mother’s health had continued to wane, but Mother had always been there to consult with and to remind him not to take every little misbehavior so seriously. Now he was alone. Well, there was Sherlock, but he was no replacement for their mother’s seemingly infinite wisdom when it came to childrearing. It was a frightening thought and it would be Rose that paid the price if he did this wrong. Looking down at his sleeping sister, her face sticky with spilled tears, he only hoped that he was fit for the task.

\-----------------------------------------------

It was just past 10am the following morning when the occupants of the rocking chair began to stir from slumber, mostly because Rose was shivering. “I should have tucked you back in,” Mycroft told her with a sigh.

“I’m glad you didn’t, because maybe I would’ve been scared if I woke up,” Rose replied. She sighed softly as he wrapped a throw blanket around her and carried her downstairs.

“I’ll fix you some tea and make breakfast,” Mycroft offered, plopping her in a chair. He had just begun heating up water when Rose suddenly bolted from the chair, her blanket trailing behind her like a quilted cape.

“Sherlock!”

So the wandering brother had returned. Mycroft stepped out of the kitchen and watched Rose throw her arms around him.

“I was scared you weren’t coming home, I didn’t see you,” Rose murmured.

Sherlock bent over and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry. I needed time to walk and think. You know how I feel about London.”

“You almost love London more than me,” Rose quipped.

“Almost, but I’ll always love you most in the whole world,” he whispered. The smile on his face as he said the words did not reach his eyes.

Mycroft’s smile didn’t reach his eyes either, namely because he didn’t have one. His eyes were narrowed as he scrutinized his little brother and was displeased with what he saw. “Rose, please go wrap up in the blanket again. I need to speak with Sherlock in my study for a moment.”

The little girl’s head shot up in alarm, her eyes going wide. “But Sherlock just got home. He hasn’t had time to be naughty yet My!”

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes. “Not every trip to my study ends in a sore bottom Rosenwyn. I just want to speak with him privately about grown up things.”

“When am I old enough for grown up things?” Rose asked. She reluctantly released her hold on Sherlock and retrieved her blanket while she waited for an answer.

“When you’re considered an adult by the laws of this country; you’ve eight years to go. Now go warm up.” Mycroft shot Sherlock a look that said he had better follow him. He led the way to his study and waited for Sherlock to enter before closing the door.

“You’re high.” It was a statement and not a question because Mycroft was entirely certain he was correct. “Apparently my suspicions were well founded.” Crossing his arms over his chest he pinned Sherlock with a hard look.

“I’m not an addict. I would never engage in anything so serious as an addiction. I can stop whenever I want and am in complete control. It’s not your concern anyway,” Sherlock state defensively.

“It is indeed my concern and you better hope you can stop at any moment because you need to stop _now_ ,” Mycroft growled. “This is not the time to be an idiot Sherlock. We’re all she has and you cannot destroy yourself in front of her. I won’t allow it.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow arrogantly at him. “You can’t stop me Mycroft and as I said, I’m not an addict. I’m in complete control.”

“You would be very surprised to learn what I can and cannot do!” Mycroft thundered. “What you do outside this house I cannot stop, or at least will only be partially successful in stopping, but don’t you push me Sherlock. Don’t you _dare_. You _will not_ be high here in our home with our baby sister. I had best not ever find any drugs or related paraphernalia in this house. Rose’s wellbeing is paramount and I will not allow you to bring chaos into this home, so I suggest you control yourself. Are we clear?”

“Are you saying I would hurt her? Put her in danger? Deliberately upset her?” Sherlock asked. “You should know better than that by now Mycroft! I would never do any of those things and she will always be safe in my care. She is not a weapon to use against me, to ensure good behavior. I can control myself just fine without your insulting threats. Don’t you dare use the baby against me like that!”

“I am going to hold you to that Sherlock,” the eldest Holmes replied in a dangerously low tone. “I am going to hold you to that assurance that she is and always will be safe in your care. Now go upstairs and clean yourself up.”

After giving his brother a scathing look Sherlock departed the study and went upstairs, inwardly fuming at the very idea that he would not keep Rose safe.

Sighing heavily, Mycroft took a moment to calm himself before returning to the kitchen to make breakfast.

\----------------------------------------------

“How should I know?” Sherlock asked, scowling darkly at his brother. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because clearly I don’t know either. You’re certain you don’t know? Truly certain? You’ve been here more hours of the day then I have been generally. How can you not know?” Mycroft sounded far more puzzled than frustrated, but there was a bit of that too.

“For the same reason _you_ don’t know,” Sherlock retorted. “It was never important before to analyze the patterns of Mother’s dressing habits. It’s not like she would let me experiment on her clothes, though not for lack of asking on my part.”

The brothers fell silent and stared into Maud’s closet, scowling at the items of clothing as if they were the most offensive items on the planet.

“Did they ask about things like… stockings, too?”

Mycroft nodded, giving a slight shudder. “Head to toe what we want her buried in and all I could do is say I’d get back to them as soon as was possible. Which at this rate won’t be anytime soon.”

Sherlock hummed in place of a verbal response. “Make-up too? Do we bring hers in? I suddenly find myself wishing I’d paid more attention to the arrangements when Father died.”

“Mother didn’t want you paying attention and there were hardly questions like stockings and make-up to be answered for Father. Mother largely kept _me_ out of the loop as well, said it was her duty and her’s alone and it’s the place of the child to grieve and come for comfort.”

“She was slightly offended you didn’t come for cuddles,” Sherlock commented. “After all it was _Father_ and you’d known him longest of us all.”

Mycroft shot him an annoyed look, pursing his lips slightly. “My hands were quite full of a rambunctious creature we call Rose. Toddlerhood doesn’t stop for grieving nor comprehend the concept.” His eyes narrowed as he watched something flash across the younger Holmes’s face. “What?”

“Well, I’ve got a possible answer, just possible, but I’m trying to decide if I want to say it or not,” Sherlock admitted. “Because I have a feeling you’ll just smack the back of my head and call me an idiot.” When Mycroft merely quirked an eyebrow, Sherlock went on. “Maybe… Well…uh… maybe… Rose might know?”

Sherlock’s prediction turned out to be entirely correct and he let out a pained yelp before rubbing a hand over the back of his head.

“We are not asking our ten-year-old orphaned sister what she thinks we should dress her dead mother in,” Mycroft growled. “Have you completely lost your senses? Don’t you think this is hard enough for her without the responsibility of planning any of this?”

“It was just an idea! And it might make her feel better to participate, even in a small part. You know, closure… That’s what they call it isn’t it?” Sherlock blinked for a few seconds then nodded, answering his own question.

“No, that is absolutely out of the question unless she asks us if she can help and any helping will not involve the dressing of Mother under any circumstances. It’s time to call in reinforcements.” Mycroft took his mobile from his pants pocket and dialed two very familiar numbers

Within minutes Eleanor Gardner and Barbara Gaines were on their way across London.

\-------------------------------------------------

“We have to pick a song too?” Sherlock asked the following evening.

Mycroft frowned at his younger brother, feeling very puzzled by Sherlock’s shocked look. “You were _at_ our father’s funeral. There was a song; three songs in fact. How does this come as a surprise to you? Did you delete it?”

“I made a concerted effort to go to my mind palace that day,” Sherlock admitted. “Too many people, too much talking and crying, and I found myself overwhelmed by the amount of stupidity.”

“And you couldn’t stop deducing, could you?” Mycroft asked with a smirk.

Sherlock shook his head. “Nana said I was rude, but it really wasn’t my fault that people kept trying to talk to me. I tried very hard to look as unapproachable as possible and naturally _you_ wandered off with the baby.”

“There was no way I was allowing all those people, many of whom were strangers and some of whom I actively disliked, to pass Rose around amongst themselves,” Mycroft replied. “And you’re always rude Sherlock so…” His voice trailed off as he turned towards the door of his study, an eyebrow quirked. “Stop eavesdropping Rosenwyn and come in.”

The door slowly opened and a pink-cheeked Rose shuffled into the room. She proceeded to stand there silently and shift her weight from foot to foot. “Can I… I mean _may_ I help? Please? For Mummy?” The words were said barely above a whisper, almost as though she expected to be soundly scolded.

Mycroft could only watch her for a moment, before giving Sherlock a look that clearly said _‘you had a point after all, brother mine_.’ “What did you want to help with?” he finally asked, giving Rose his full attention.

“I want to pick the song, and I would pick Mummy’s very favorite song,” Rose explained. She slowly approached his desk, unconsciously assuming the same pace and stance that she did when receiving a scolding.

The eldest Holmes could only imagine the outrage from some of those who would be attending the funeral at having a recording of Dean Martin singing _When You’re Smiling_ as part of the service. “Poppet I’m not sure that’s a good idea. People may not find it entirely appropriate.”

“I don’t even know why we invited some of those people,” Rose interrupted. “Some of them we don’t know, some of them we don’t like, and I don’t see why they get any say at all. It’s my Mummy not theirs! Why are we inviting them Mycroft?”

“Because polite society dictates that we do, whether or not we like them. And we don’t invite them as one would to a party, we notify them of it and they can come if they choose.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Society is asinine. Also, that sounds just like an invitation.”

Sherlock began to roar with laughter, which quickly turned into a coughing fit when Mycroft shot him a look of death.

“We _will_ play Mummy’s song,” Rose said with as much authority as she could muster. “And if anyone complains, we will tell them to be quiet because it’s our Mummy and we want her song.” She nodded curtly, as if that put an end to the matter.

“A please wouldn’t go amiss,” Mycroft responded. His tone lacked the usual firmness as he found himself completely unable to muster the energy to be stern with her.

Rounding the desk, Rose helped herself to his lap and promptly wrapped both arms around his neck. “Please?” she whispered.

Mycroft’s arms automatically hugged her tightly in return. “I suppose,” he murmured, before resting his cheek against her curly head. “It is _our_ mother after all and I dare say she would approve of such a proposal, regardless of its unconventionality.”

\--------------------------------------------

Twenty-four hours later, Mycroft was seated at his desk once more, his head in his hands as he bent over a blank sheet of paper. How did one write a eulogy to a beloved parent, let alone when one was not given to public displays of sentiment to begin with? He wanted to honor Mother, yet he struggled with the idea of having to do so publicly. Mother was worth it, of course, but that did not make this process any easier, nor would it make standing before a public audience with emotions on display feel any less of a vulnerability. Finally he picked up his pen and began to write…

\-------------------------------------------

It was time, Mycroft realized; his turn to speak. Taking a deep breath he stood and walked slowly to the podium, placing the eulogy on it, just in case. As he opened his mouth to begin, he saw Sherlock and Rose rise and come up to stand beside him, one on either side. His throat momentarily closed, seeming only to open again when Rose slid her tiny hand in his.

“Maud Lavinia Holmes was an extraordinary woman. So extraordinary in fact that to sum her up in such a brief form as this is tantamount to insult. Yet that is the requirement when one loses a loved one, and thus I shall do my best to honor her,” Mycroft said.

“There is not a soul to be found in this world that has not been bettered by knowing Maud Holmes. My mother…” He paused to look at Rose and Sherlock. “ _Our_ mother, had a kind spirit and gave of herself to everyone around her, even those she had known no longer than five minutes time. It was her nature to do so and the fact that she was far more brilliant than anyone around her never inhibited her ability to connect with people on an emotional and personal level. If she wished to hug you, she hugged you; your opinion in the matter was not sought if you appeared to be in need of one.” That had certainly been true for him at any rate!

“She loved deeply and unconditionally, especially her children, whom she said brightened her life beyond belief… Even when one drove the new car through the garage, or set the house on fire, or accidentally poisoned the entire family. I’ll leave it to you all to speculate on whom each of those particular misdemeanors can be ascribed. Clearly, among Maud Holmes’s greatest attributes can be her counted her sense of humor and an almost saintly amount of patience. Additionally one can count her perseverance, determination, and unfailing courage.”

Mycroft paused to take a deep breath and steady his voice before finishing. “She is, in fact, utterly irreplaceable and the world is notably dimmer without her presence in it. She will be remembered, missed, and always loved by those most important to her, who will strive daily to be the good human beings she raised them to be.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

_One Week Later_

The Holmes family slowly transitioned to a new normal; a more complicated version of normal that Mycroft struggled to find his footing in. He was growing increasingly concerned about Sherlock, who had thus far carefully avoided the line Mycroft had warned him not to cross and, at present, did show signs of being in control. Equally worrisome was the feelings of inadequacy he was suddenly plagued with when it came to Rose. For much of the last year or two he had been raising her on his own, and had often taken the household entirely whenever Mother travelled for health or academic purposes. He had thought he was, in many ways, an unorthodox single-parent, never realizing until after her passing how much he still depended upon Mother and her role in Rose’s life until she was gone.

Now Mycroft found life filled with all sorts of moments during which he missed his Mother more than he thought possible, such as right this moment as Rose looked at him, clearly aghast, her eyes welling up with tears. All he had done was look at her algebra homework and mark what was incorrect, so why was she about to cry?

Rose took a deep breath but her voice trembled in spite of it when she began to speak. “I liked it better when Mummy did it. She would always say ‘Baby, you’re quite close; let’s try this one together, shall we?’ and we’d do it together and then I got it right and Mummy would give me kisses and say I was such a brilliant girl. You… you’re just doing it wrong, with your red pen and telling me to go do it over. It’s just wrong My! You’re all wrong!” She added a stomp for further emphasis.

It dawned on Mycroft that it was not the corrections she was objecting to but the fact that he hadn’t done it the way Mother would have. He quickly combed through memories of himself around Rose’s age and recalled similar circumstances, albeit with a very different- and hated- pet name. “You’re right,” he told her softly. “That’s exactly how Mother did it.”

The little girl nodded briefly before swiping at the tears now trickling down her face. “Come here poppet,” he called, opening his arms for her. Mycroft felt a wave of relief when she hurried over and let him lift her onto his lap and hug her tightly. “I’m sorry… that I didn’t do it like Mother,” Mycroft said sincerely. “I wasn’t trying to upset you, or be harsh and I’ll be more than happy to sit down and work through those few problems with you. But you must realize Rose, that I can’t do everything just like Mother. She and I have always been different in some ways and alike in others but I cannot be what she was.”

“You can’t do a French braid like Mummy could,” Rose murmured. “I… I know you can’t be just like her, but sometimes it’s hard because you aren’t.”

“I know,” Mycroft replied. He began rubbing her back soothingly as she laid her head on his shoulder. “It’s hard for me too. It’s hard for everyone, but we’re all trying our best. Everything will feel right again soon. A new type of right,” he clarified. “But it _will_ feel right again. Until then, we must be patient and take care of one another.” _And hopefully_ , he silently added, _what I can give will be enough._

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad because you can’t be just like Mummy,” Rose clarified. “But you aren’t going to change, right? You’ll still be you and we’ll still be us?”

“I will and we will,” Mycroft vowed. He hugged her even tighter, pressing a few kisses on top of her curls. _One day at a time_ , he reminded himself. _Take it one day at a time_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting! Life is exceedingly chaotic at present and people keep telling me I really do need to sleep even if I’m not convinced it’s always necessary LOL. Petal gets a turn next!


	33. Tiny Dancer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus update! Tiny plot bunny that begged to be jotted down. Enjoy!

“Mother you cannot be serious,” Mycroft said with a frown. “Please tell me this is some sort of very unfunny joke. Which I hate, by the way.”

Maud sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Myc, it’s only an hour or just a tad more. They are three year olds and you cannot possibly tell me that you are frightened by three year olds. Are you?”

A dark eyebrow quirked. “If all three year olds are like Rose then yes, I am most certainly frightened of them.” As if to prove his point, his tiny sister came running through the kitchen, covered in what appeared to be some sort of sticky, glittery substance, screaming happily as Sherlock trailed behind her making ridiculous noises.

“Do you see what I mean Mother? You want to send me into a horde of children like that?” Mycroft enquired.

“You are twenty-five Mycroft, not ten, and I’m quite certain you’re capable of fending off a horde of adorable toddlers,” Maud replied, shaking her head at him. “I’ve got a deadline and a meeting and Baby will be devastated if she has to miss her ballet today.”

“She’s three; she doesn’t even understand what that means!”

“Do you understand the meaning of your mother is growing angry with you because you’re being ridiculous?”

Mycroft scowled darkly at her. “Fine. But I don’t have to be happy about it.”

Maud rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you’d think I was sending you into combat or refusing to make you a cake ever again for as long as you lived. Take the baby to ballet, sit in a chair and watch her quietly, and then bring her home. You don’t even have to speak to anyone if you don’t want to.”

She was well aware of Mycroft’s sensitivity to being identified as Rose’s father, something she quite frankly did not understand, and his overall distaste for pushy parents singing their child’s praises. Though that was largely because he did not appreciate strangers beginning conversations with him that involved shoving photographs in his face and possibly making comparisons to Rose, by whom the sun rose and set. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone, but Maud knew it was true just the same.

\-------------------------------------------

For all his grumbling and dislike of normal people, Mycroft was ready precisely on time to take Rose to her class. He watched as she slowly descended the stairs, her little hand gripping the railing as best she could. Mycroft smiled proudly at her. “Someone has been listening very well today. I wonder who that might be?”

Rose jumped from the last step onto the floor and ran into the entry way. “Me, me, me!” She announced, waving her hands to emphasize her presence to her much larger brother.

Mycroft went down on one knee and let her run into his arms. “That’s a very good girl poppet,” he praised. “ _Very_ good not to run down the stairs and hold on to the banister. Do you remember why we have that rule?”

“Because if I run down the stairs and fall I might break my head and then Sherlock will get a spanking and cry very muchly because you’re mean,” Rose answered as he scooped her up from the floor.

“Mostly correct. It may or may not be Sherlock’s fault should you tumble and become injured, but if it is, he will most definitely get a spanking. And I am not mean, our brother is simply a troublemaker,” the eldest Holmes corrected. “Sind Sie bereit für zum Tanzen kleine Ballerina?” _[Are you ready for class little ballerina?]_

Rose nodded, her curls bouncing with the movement. “Ja! Wollen Sie mich begleiten?” _[Are you bringing me?]_ When her brother nodded in response, she let out a squeal and kissed his cheek before abandoning German and returning to English to exclaim, “Hooray! This is my favorite day!”

Grabbing her hideously pink bag from the floor, Mycroft carried his tutu-wearing sister out to the car as Rose continued to chatter about her new friend and all the nice ladies, and umpteen other things. He noted with some satisfaction the way she somehow seemed to easily transition from English to German and back to English again throughout said chattering. Which one she spoke, he noticed, was generally determined by which language he used to respond and whether or not she knew the proper word she wished to use. He’d always known she’d be brilliant.

If only she could be a bit more quiet and reflective like himself, Mycroft thought as he pulled out of the driveway. Then again, he wasn’t entirely certain home would seem like home without her constant giggling and squealing. Funnily enough he couldn’t quite remember what home had sounded like _before_ Rose came along.

\------------------------------------

As soon as Mycroft took her out of the car seat and set her on the ground, Rose took off running for the door of the studio. “ROSE!” he called out sternly. “Come _here_.”

The tiny girl half drowning in pink skidded to a stop and slowly turned around to see her brother still by the car.

“Come _here_ ,” Mycroft repeated. He waited, mostly patiently, while Rose rather shuffled her way back over to him. Once she closed the few feet between them, he squatted down to try and look her in the eyes. Considering there were some two year olds taller than Rose it didn’t quite work, but he did his best. After all, he wasn’t going to sit on the ground to be at eye level with her!

“You are not old enough to go running off by yourself,” Mycroft told her in a firm tone. “You are to stay with me and hold my hand. There are many cars here and you are incredibly small. They might not see you and you could be injured. You either hold my hand or I will carry you inside. Which would you prefer?”

Rose had ducked her little head down by the time he offered her the options for crossing the parking lot, making him feel like a bully. Mycroft knew he wasn’t and safety was non-negotiable in the Holmes household so he was really just upholding the rules. Yet Rose could be particularly sensitive at times, when one’s tone was just a bit too firm or a voice was raised too high. He let out a sigh and was just about to scoop Rose up for cuddle, on lookers be damned, he heard her mumble something.

“Pardon?” Mycroft asked.

“’m sorry,” the little ballerina mumbled once more.

He could see her lower lip beginning to wobble and quickly picked her up, hoping to stave off tears. “I know poppet, I know. You must remember to think, that’s very important. We must always play safely and do things safely. Parking lots are dangerous, so we’ll go together so we’re both safe,” he explained. “Can you keep me safe if I keep you safe?”

Instantly her lip stopped trembling and she looked up at him with wide, bright blue eyes. “I’ll keep you safe My!” Rose assured him with a firm nod.

“Do you want to hold hands and walk together, or should I carry you in?” Mycroft asked again.

“Hold hands, because I’m very big now. Tell me again how big I am,” Rose requested as he set her down.

“Well…” With one hand holding her tiny one, Mycroft looked at the watch on his other wrist. “As of this moment you are three years, six months, two weeks and nine hours old.” He watched her face light up with a smile at his words. “So yes, you are getting very big. Come along now or we’ll be late.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

It caused no small amount of whispered chattering when the two Holmes siblings entered the dance studio. Rose was readily recognized by students and staff but the man beside her was not familiar at all.

“Hello Rose!” a woman called, waving at the little girl. Mycroft watched as Rose hurried over to the woman and the ballerina beside her.

“’Llo Mrs. Gardner! ‘Llo Lou!” Rose hugged the other woman before practically tackling the other girl.

“Where’s your Mummy today Rose?” Eleanor asked as she ruffled Rose’s curls.

“Mummy has work things so my My bringed me today,” Rose announced with a smile. “He never did that before and now he’s here and gets to watch me, and we walked in the lot together and were very safe.”

Eleanor gave her a smile. “That’s wonderful darling. You and Louise should put on your toe shoes now.” She watched as Rose nodded and scurried back off to her big brother. She couldn’t help but feel a bit amazed that this young, overly dressed man was Maud Holmes’s child. He looked so forbidding and downright grumpy. Surely no child of Maud, who was a more subdued adult version of her daughter, could have such a surly and reserved son. Yet, for all her confusion at the enigma that was Mycroft Holmes, the youngest Holmes clearly found him anything but intimidating.

“Why can’t you put on your own shoes?” Mycroft asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I know you know how.”

Rose gave him a bit of a pout. “But I want you to do it My! Please! All the other Mummies help their ballerinas,” she pointed out, waving her hand at her friends.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I am, quite clearly, not our dear mother. You will…” His voice trailed off as Rose began sniffling. “Oh for god sakes. Fine, I’ll do it.” Lifting Rose off the floor he sat her down on the nearest visitor’s chair. He then went down on one knee and began unlacing her sneakers. “Sie sind ein sehr albernes Mädchen.” [ _You are a very ridiculous girl_ ]

“Ja. Aber ich liebe dich My,” Rose replied. [ _Yes, but I love you_ ]

He gave her a small smile and rubbed the top of her hand with his thumb. Once her sneakers were removed and her ballet slippers on, Mycroft sent her on her way with a pat on the bottom and took a seat. Immediately he crossed his arms over his chest and a scowl that was meant to put off all around him.

“You must be Mycroft,” a female voice spoke up.

Mycroft turned his head to see the woman Rose had run up to earlier. “I am indeed,” he responded, looking at her expectantly.

“Eleanor Gardner. Louise’s mum. I don’t plan to bother you, I just wanted to say hello. Your mother and I have become friends through our little ones. Give her my best will you?” Eleanor extended her hand and was pleased to find Mycroft shaking it.

If there was one thing that Mycroft could be credit as having, it was impeccable manners. He shook the woman’s hand and gestured for her to have a seat, smiling to himself when she did so and kept her promise not to bother him.

\---------------------------------------------

An hour later the little ballerinas were dismissed from their lessons and immediately sought out their parents. Most greeted their little ones with loud exclamations of how great their talent was and how amazing they’d looked, accompanied by big hugs and smacking kisses.

All except two.

Rose scurried over to Mycroft, similar to her fellow dancers, a bright smile on her face. She helped herself to his lap, with a little bit of help from her big brother, and leaned back against his chest. “’llo My,” she greeted.

Despite his typical reserve when among the masses, a smile tugged at Mycroft’s lips. “Hello to you as well poppet,” he whispered. “You did very well today, especially with pointing your toes.”

Her face lit up with a huge, bright smile and Rose let out a little sigh of contentment. They didn’t need big shouting excitement, hand clapping, and big smacking kisses. That was just not their way when out in public, she and Mycroft. But that was just fine, because My was her My and they loved each other in their own way.

“Did you remember to thank your instructor?” Mycroft asked.

“Oh, I forgot!” Rose slipped off his lap and ran over to her instructor and hugged the young woman tightly. “Thank you Miss Sarah! You are very lovely.”

Sarah laughed and bent down to kiss the top of her head. “You’re welcome Rose. See you next time.”

Rose ran back to Mycroft and took several minutes to put on her sneakers and carefully tie the laces before they made their way to the exit. “I don’t want to hold hands,” she said when they reached the door.

“Not holding hands isn’t one of our options, remember?” Mycroft said in a firm tone. “Why don’t you want to hold hands like a big girl?” He let out a sigh as Rose hugged his leg and pressed her face against it for a moment before peeking up at him.

“I want you to carry me,” Rose said, giving him a little smile.

Another sigh escaped the eldest Holmes. “Must we?”

“We must,” the toddler said firmly. “Because I want a cuddle.”

“You’re a troublemaker Rosenwyn Holmes,” Mycroft muttered as he scooped her up. “What am I going to do with you?”

If he had hoped to gain some sort of idea of just what to do with her, Mycroft was sadly disappointed as Rose’s only response was a giggle as she began playing with a button on his waistcoat. “But I suppose you’re my troublemaker and we’re quite stuck with one another, aren’t we?” he mused. Really, if he thought about it, that wasn’t such a bad prospect.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> German corrected by a fan on ff.net. Much thanks to Anna for her help! :)


	34. Little Barnacle

There were many, many things about Rosenwyn Holmes that her eldest brother found endearing, adorable, and irresistible. When she kissed Mother goodnight and turned to him for a tuck-in; the times she shoved books at him and asked if they could read. Every time she showed him new dances she created, most of which were utter nonsense but she was only three and had only attended ballet for three months. Genius in the physical arts was not to be expected at this stage, but perhaps in another year or so.

There were also the times when Mycroft was able to leave the office at a reasonable time or delay his appearance at the office, which were admittedly few, but each time Rose would ask to have tea with him. Naturally, being Rose, she would only drink said tea if she could cuddle in his lap for their tea time.

Really, the tiniest Holmes had many, many lovely qualities that made Mycroft so proud to be her big brother and help raise her to be an intelligent and reasonable human being. In fact, he could see her making strides in that direction almost daily.

Yet there were sometimes downsides as well as highlights. Naturally, since Rose was a completely emotional and hyperactive three-year-old, she could be equal parts unreasonable, unpredictable, and completely ridiculous. A perfect example of this was her complete and utter meltdown when he left for work each morning.

At first, a week prior to today, he had found her little dramatic episode rather endearing. Clearly the baby loved him and that made Mycroft feel very happy, though he tried hard to be very happy in the most dignified and unsentimental way possible… When no one was looking! Rose’s tears and her tiny little hands clinging to his suit coat had very much melted his heart. Immediately he’d scooped her up and cuddled her close, whispering assurances that he would be home in time to tuck her in if the world behaved itself. It mollified her and Rose went back to Mother for some suitable distraction that allowed him to slip away with no further tears.

What he had hoped was a one day ordeal had most unfortunately become a daily trial that was truly beginning to wear on his nerves. How many times must he explain that the world did not run itself and was not able to be stopped for crying little girls? Admittedly he’d only said that once, since Mother had given him quite the look for saying such a thing.

Still, whatever way Mycroft attempted to explain why he must leave for the day while promising to return, it consistently ended in failure with more and more dramatics growing each day. First, it was grabbing his suit coat, which had elevated to pulling on his, followed by sitting on his briefcase and refusing to get up. Rose’s latest dramatic effort to detain him involved the tiny girl clinging to his leg like a particularly stubborn little barnacle.

This morning it appeared he might just escape before Rose awoke and spotted him, but as he put his hand on the doorknob a piercing wail told Mycroft that his hope was mostly firmly dashed.

“Nooooooooo!” Rose wailed, running out of the kitchen as quickly as she could. She flung herself at his leg, wrapping herself bodily around it, becoming a barnacle once again. “No My don’t go! No no no!”

The eldest Holmes closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Mycroft looked down at her, quirking an eyebrow. “Rosenwyn, I’ve told you every day that I must go to work. I would certainly prefer to spend my time with you, but I’d like there to still be a world for you to grow up and explore someday. Such a hope requires sacrifice. It’s not as if I don’t come home at all. Why must we have such fuss all the time? Don’t you realize how ridiculous you are?”

Rose let out a great sob and pressed her face against his trouser leg, something he found far more annoying than the dramatic display before him. If she got snot on his trousers…

“Mother! Some assistance!” Mycroft called. He could only pat Rose’s head as she continued to sob. Each time he tried to disengage her from his leg, his little barnacle wailed even harder and held on that much tighter.

Maud Holmes came rushing out of the kitchen, hoping breakfast wouldn’t burn in her absence. “Oh baby, we must let Myc go to work,” she said gently. The Holmes matriarch began to carefully pry Rose’s vice-like grip from Mycroft’s leg. The moment Rose was lifted away from him, Mycroft dashed out the door.

“Oh Baby, don’t cry so hard,” Maud murmured, rocking her little one in her arms. “I know it’s very hard to have Mikey go to work because you want to play with him. He wants to play with you too, but grown-ups must work, too, not just play.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Rose decided immediately before pressing her face against the crook of her mother’s neck.

Maud smiled and kissed Rose’s curly head, finding it very amusing how often she picked up words from Sherlock and Mycroft and for the most part managed to apply them correctly. “Myc will be home later Baby, I promise. He’ll come home probably in time for dinner, but if not, I know he’ll tuck you up in bed all snuggly after a story.”

“That’s too long!” Rose wailed. “That’s one hundred years Mummy, too long!” She wiped her face the shoulder of Maud’s blouse, her enthusiastic tears wetting the fabric.

Struggling not to chuckle, Maud instead made gentle shushing noises as she rubbed Rose’s back. “Well it’s truly not that long Baby. Certainly not one hundred whole years! But I have a lovely idea that I think will put a smile on your face. Shall Mummy tell you?”

The tiny girl nodded, scrunching up her mother’s blouse in her hands and pulling on it in an attempt to cuddle even closer to Maud.

“We should make Mikey a cake,” Maud said with a smile. “Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise for him? You’re such a good helper in the kitchen and that would be great fun for us, hm? And a lovely treat for after our supper tonight! Should we go find your apron and then make Mikey a cake?”

Rose’s forlorn little sniffles abruptly stopped at Maud’s suggestion, which she appeared to contemplate for a moment before responding. “Mummy, you have very brilliant ideas,” she decided. “My apron is in my playroom, and my bowls and spoons too!”

“Well we must have your apron,” Maud agreed. “I think we’ll use Mummy’s bowls and spoons though, because we can make a much bigger cake in bigger bowls, right?” She smiled when Rose nodded. “Aw, my lovely baby,” Maud murmured as Rose wrapped her little arms around Maud’s neck. “You’re a sweet girl Rose Holmes, don’t you ever change. Promise Mummy you won’t.”

“Okay Mummy, I promise,” Rose readily agreed. She kissed Maud’s cheek as the Holmes matriarch carried her towards the stairs in search of her most essential cooking attire.

\------------------------------------------------

Twenty minutes later Rose had her chef’s hat on her head and was wearing her little apron covered in cupcakes. “I washed my hands and I’m ready Mummy,” the three-year-old announced. She readily helped Maud gather the needed ingredients, with the exception of the flour that was retrieved by Maud from the pantry as it was rather heavy. Everything else the little girl helped retrieve and bring to Maud, taking the eggs out of the fridge and caring them very carefully over to Maud, who put them on the counter.

“Mummy, there are not babies in there. Did you know?” Rose asked as she handed over the eggs. “I asked Sherlock and he said that there are not baby chickens in there, even though chickens do come from eggs. At first that didn’t make any sense, but then he told me about… about…” She scrunched up her face as she tried to think hard about the word Sherlock had used.

“About fertilization?” Maud prompted.

Rose nodded, grinning happily. “Yes! The rooster has to make the egg be a baby and not an egg to eat and the rooster does it by… by that. Mummy help me say it!”

With a smile, Maud helped Rose practice saying the word, her heart swelling with pride at how brilliant her little girl was. “Sherlock tells you many things, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, but sometimes My doesn’t like it and then he pokes Sherlock with his brolly and says ‘SHUT UP SHERLOCK!’” Rose shouted, trying to imitate Mycroft’s blustering. “I don’t know why he pokes Sherlock, I just have lots of questions and it’s not nice to poke people.”

Maud lifted Rose up onto a chair so she could help put the ingredients into bowl for mixing. “That’s very true; it’s not nice to poke people, especially with umbrellas.” Inwardly she sighed at her boys and their behavior. What an example to set for Baby!

Rose watched with interest as Maud opened the bag of flour, immediately looking inside the bag, only to frown at the contents. “Mummy what is this stuff?”

“Its flour and we’re going to--” Maud was interrupted by the sound of her mobile ringing loudly in the sitting room. “I need to go answer that love,” she said, lifting Rose down from the chair. “Why don’t you pick a cake pan for us from the cupboard? I’ll be right back Baby. Wait for me to do anything else,” Maud cautioned as she exited the kitchen.

As soon as Maud left the kitchen to retrieve her mobile, Rose opened the cupboard to pick out a cake pan. They had pans of all shapes and sizes and the little girl spent a few moments examining each of them before ultimately selecting a heart shaped pan. She stood up on her tip toes and stretched her arms up to put the pan on the counter top. Once that was completed, she crawled back onto the chair and stood up to survey the ingredients. As she did so, Rose could hear Maud’s feet walking down the hallway to where her warm, cozy study was.

Surely she could start making the cake, Rose thought. After all, she and Mummy baked together all the time and made lots and lots of cakes! But, Mummy had said to wait for her, so Rose flopped onto her bum on the chair. Waiting, however, turned out to be very, very hard! Mummy was taking forever and Rose was quickly becoming convinced that Maud had forgotten all about her!

After waiting for what seemed like quite some time, but was really only about four minutes or so, Rose stood back up on the chair again. “I will make the cake all by myself,” she decided. “And show Mummy that I’m a very good baker and very big all by myself! She’ll be so surprised and then I can make cakes all the time!”

Feeling quite happy with her decision to surprise Maud, Rose reached for the bag and flour and pulled it towards her. She thought about how Mummy made cakes and remembered that Maud always held the bag in one hand and scooped with the other. Rose grabbed a measuring cup with one hand and tried to pick up the bag with her other hand. Her tiny hand was not truly able to hold onto the weight of the big flour bag and it quickly fell out of her grasp and onto the floor, flour puffing it from it like a white cloud as it fell.

Looking down at the mess, the three-year-old let out a sigh. They weren’t supposed to eat things that fell on the floor and now she didn’t have any flour because it fell on the floor. And you had to have flour to make a cake! “This is a problem but I have a solution,” Rose murmured, mimicking Sherlock. Getting down from the chair Rose scampered into the pantry and looked for another bag that matched the one she’d just spilled. Sure enough, there was a whole brand new bag just waiting for her on a shelf she could reach!

With great care, Rose slid the bag off the shelf and held it tightly to her chest with both arms as she headed back into the kitchen. That was when she was confronted with another problem: the bag was heavy, how could she get it on the counter? Scrunching up her face in determination, Rose held tightly to the bag and attempted to stand on her tip toes and be as tall as she could. Sadly, she just wasn’t tall enough.

“Grrrrrr,” Rose growled, stomping her foot on the floor. “I want to grow very big!” After another stomp, the determined little girl tried once more, lifting the bag up with her arms high up over her head. For a moment, it seemed sure to work and Rose grinned with pleasure at the thought of accomplishing such a difficult task. But just as quickly as it seemed so certain she would manage, the weight of the bag became unbalanced and started to tip. Letting out a squeal of alarm, Rose grabbed for the now toppling bag but did nothing more than tear part of it, releasing the white contents within it all over herself and the floor.

\---------------------------------------------------

“Yes, that will be just fine! Thank you so much for the invitation,” Maud said as she closed her calendar. “I’m quite looking forward to speaking to your students. Make sure they have plenty of questions for me, will you? I want to have a dialogue, not just talk at them. I--” The sound of an alarmed squeal cut Maud off mid-thought.

“Goodness, eleven minutes flew right by, I need to let you go,” Maud commented as she looked at the clock before dashing out of her office. “I left the baby in the kitchen alone. What? Oh, she’s three now. I’ll call in a bit and we’ll talk about details. Bye now!” Maud clicked off her mobile just as she entered the kitchen. As she caught sight of her formerly bright, sparkly clean kitchen, Maud let out a gasp.

There was Rose, lying among the small heap of spilled flour, covered in it from head to toe as she laughed and moved her arms and legs around. Maud could only stare at her little one for a moment before she could even say anything. Really, having raised Mycroft and Sherlock, she should have anticipated such a disaster. It took small children seconds to create chaos and here she’d managed to leave Rose to her own devices for eleven minutes!

Maud could only chuckle at the silly sight before her, and shake her head at her own mistake. “Baby, what are you doing? What happened?” she asked. There wasn’t a hint of displeasure in her voice as she was a very practical woman when it came to raising children. Children were children and a parent had to know when to pick their battles. This was as much her fault as it was Rose’s and Maud well knew it! Eleven minutes was far too long to leave her precocious little one alone; three minutes might even be too long!

The flour covered three year old sat up and gave Maud a smile. “I’m making a snow angel in the flour Mummy!” She made it sound as if that were the most natural thing in the world to be doing in a heap of flour in the kitchen.

That did it. There was absolutely nothing for it but to laugh and laugh Maud did. Full deep laughter bubbled up from her belly to the point that she was nearly doubled over from it. “Only you my love, only you Baby!” Maud laughed. When she finally got herself back under control Maud looked up just in time to see Rose flop back over and began making snow angels again. There was really nothing for it, she thought; she just had to take a photo!

\---------------------------------------

Across London, Mycroft was half buried in a folder of top secret documents that may or may not present a threat to national security. He paused in his examination and ran a hand over his face, rubbing at his forehead as he felt a headache begin to come on.

After summoning a strengthening cup of tea from his PA, Mycroft was just about to resume his examination of the papers when his mobile chirped, alerting him to a text. It was from his mother, with no written communication, merely an image attached, which he quickly opened. His eyebrows shot up, with surprise before he frowned at the screen. Good lord, was that Rose, flailing wildly in what appeared to be _flour_ on the kitchen floor?! Rolling his eyes, Mycroft sent a response.

‘I don’t understand her at all Mother. M’

‘Remind me to bring out your baby album later and perhaps you’ll understand then.’

‘Mother, don’t threaten me. M’

Back at the Holmes townhouse, Maud could only laugh and shake her head at her eldest child’s response.

\----------------------------------------------------------

With disaster neatly averted, for the moment at least, Mycroft made it home that night by 6pm. As he pulled into the drive, he spotted Rose in the sitting room window, undoubtedly waiting and watching for him. _It’s like she’s becoming the most loyal of hounds_ , Mycroft thought to himself. Nevertheless, her unwavering enthusiasm to see him rather warmed his heart.

As he put his key into the door, Mycroft could hear the pitter patter of her feet as they thundered into the entry way. Sure enough, as he opened the door he found Rose bouncing around in excitement.

“Hi, hi, hi, hi!” Rose squealed. She barely waited until he was inside the house before attaching herself to his leg once more, bouncing as she held on tightly to him. “My I missed you! I had a very fun day and I made you cake!”

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft set his briefcase down and patted the tiny curly head. “Someone is far too excited this close to bedtime,” he commented. “How will we ever get you to sleep if you persist in this bouncing? Have you had your bath?”

Rose shook her head. “Mummy is running it, but I don’t want to have a bath, I want to play with you My.”

“Well the world would prefer that you smell nicely, so I suggest you run up to Mother and get your bath while I eat,” Mycroft told her. “Then we’ll see what can be done about playing.” He gently pried her hands from his leg and turned her in the direction of the stairs, sending her on her way with a firm pat to her bottom. Expecting her to obey, Mycroft headed in the direction of the kitchen to find some supper, but his expectations proved false.

“Nooooooo,” Rose whined, scurrying to keep up with his longer strides. The second she got within arms distance, she reached out and put one hand in his pocket and the other into the waistband of his trousers. “No, My, no!”

“Rose, release me at once,” Mycroft ordered, giving her a stern look over his shoulder. “No, no, I said release me, not remove your feet from the floor and utilize me as some sort of transport vehicle.”

“No,” Rose said firmly. “Won’t let go!”

Mycroft continued to stride across the floor and into the kitchen. “Rosenwyn, you simply must let go of me, this is highly ridiculous. Go have your bath before I get cross, and god help you if you’ve damaged my trousers in any manner with your grubby little hands!”

Still the three year old did not let go and Mycroft was not going to drag her all around the house attached to his trousers. He stopped and looked at her sternly, or at least as sternly as one could while looking over their shoulder! “Why won’t you let go of me and go have your bath?”

Rose pressed her face against his leg and gave her answer, the fabric muffling it to the point that Mycroft couldn’t even hear her properly.

“Take your face out of my leg and give me an answer please,” he directed.

“I want a kiss,” came the tiny little response from the adorable little monster that was his sister.

Mycroft sighed heavily. “Alright, let go of me and you can have your kiss. Ridiculous child.”

Rose was completely undeterred by comments about how ridiculous she was. Letting go of his trousers, she reached her arms up for him and smiled brightly when he picked her up and settled her on his hip.

“I’m beginning to believe I should call you a little barnacle rather than poppet,” Mycroft said with a sigh before giving her the requested kiss. “You’re certainly clingy enough to be one. What do you think of that?”

“I like poppet better,” Rose told him. “Mostly ‘cause I don’t know what a bar-cull is.”

The eldest Holmes chuckled and repeated the word slowly for her. “It means a person that clings tenaciously, or in terms of marine life, it is a crustacean that attaches itself to ships, timber, rocks and whales.” He chuckled when Rose stared at him a bit blankly. “We’ll go to the library and get a book about it,” he promised. “Now will you please be my good girl and go have your bath so we can eat cake together?”

“Yes! Yes, I will do that! You will love your cake.” Rose hugged him tightly and gave him a loud, smacking kiss on his cheek before being set on her feet. “MUMMY!” she shouted while running for the stairs. “MUMMY I LEARNED SOMETHING NEW ABOUT WHALES AND BARN-CULLS WANNA HEAR IT?!”

As Rose repeated her newly learned information to their mother upstairs, Mycroft could only shake his head and chuckle. If one just had to have a barnacle attach to his person, there’s no other barnacle he’d rather have than his Rose.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Petal 6 is being worked on slowly but surely amid the near end of the semester chaos that is ensuing. I will have it up as soon as possible, I promise! In the meantime, this little plot bunny popped into my head and grew into a short story that I hope tides you over until Petal is updated!


	35. A Season of Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What started as a drabble turned into a full-fledged look at a Holmesian Christmas season! I wanted this to be up for Christmas, but although it is a bit late, I hope you enjoy it!

_1 December_

It was nearly 11pm when Mycroft walked through the front door of the Holmes family townhouse. He was greeted by silence, which was only to be expected at this time of night as the rest of his family was either sleeping or, in the case of Sherlock, entertaining himself upstairs. Hopefully he wouldn’t damage anything in the process!

Deciding a cup of tea was just the thing to soothe him after a long day of trying to prevent world wars, Mycroft quickly shed his coat and placed his umbrella in the stand by the door. With tea in mind, he set off towards the kitchen at the rear of the house but was stopped by a small light and bit of movement as he passed the sitting room. Deciding to investigate, Mycroft entered the sitting room to find someone attempting to light a fire in the fireplace.

It was not just any someone, however. It was a particularly small person who had absolutely no business playing with matches or fireplaces! “Rosenwyn!” Mycroft called. He quickly crossed the room with long strides, coming to stand over her with his hands on his hips.

The little girl in question jumped at the sound of her big brother’s voice before whirling around to look at him. With wide eyes and the flush of guilt all over her face, Rose was still holding the box of matches in one little hand as Mycroft came to stand over her, looking anything but pleased.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing little lady?” Mycroft asked sternly. He took the box of matches from her hand, slipping it into a suit jacket pocket for now.

Rose’s eyes fell on the ground as her face flushed even brighter. “I was trying to make a fire.”

“Clearly. You are five years old, Rose. How old do you have to be to build a fire by yourself in this house?” Mycroft’s eyebrow quirked as he waited for an answer.

“Thirteen,” Rose said softly. “I wanted to send my letter to Father Christmas right away, so he would have lots of time to read it and…and… everything. Please don’t be mad, My!” She began shuffling her feet as she stood there under his stern scrutiny. To her, that was something of the utmost importance, and very worthy of breaking the rule about matches and fire building! Her brother obviously did not think so.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “That’s a thoroughly ridiculous reason to break rules, and be out of bed well past your bedtime. Safety rules are non-negotiable in this house and I know you are aware of that Rosenwyn. God knows I tell you that at least four times a week,” he grumbled.

Rose bit her lip slightly before murmuring an “’m sorry,” her eyes still focused on the floor.

 _Sorry she was caught, more likely_ , he mused. “Little girls who try to light fires all by themselves get their bottoms set on fire instead,” Mycroft told her ominously. “We are going to my study this very minute and you are getting a very big spanking.”

“Nooooo,” Rose whined, giving a little stomp of her foot. “Don’t want a spanking!”

“Yes, you are getting a spanking. If you don’t want one, don’t break the rules. It is truly that simple, sister mine,” Mycroft stated very firmly. He reached out to take her hand and began walking with her towards his study. Rose whined, pleaded, and dragged her feet the whole way but he refused to be deterred. She could have been very seriously injured if he hadn’t come home when he did.

He maneuvered the protesting girl towards his desk and took a seat in the chair. Still holding her hand, Mycroft removed the letter that started the whole thing from her other hand and placed it on his desk. “We have rules in this house for a reason, Rose. Safety rules are supposed to do what?” he asked, in a firm but gentle tone.

“Keep everybody safe,” Rose said in a tiny voice.

Inwardly Mycroft sighed at her little voice; it made her seem as tiny as her height did! But she was five, very nearly six, and the impending spanking was well deserved for such naughtiness. “Very good, Rose. What happens when we don’t follow the safety rules?”

Rose sniffled just a bit, her eyes finding the floor again as the hand that had held the letter began to scrunch up her nightgown. “Spanking,” she whispered.

Mycroft sighed heavily. Rose was always the most miserable looking little thing when she was in trouble! “Yes; when you break the rules about safety, you get a spanking. And you broke a very serious safety rule so you are going to have a very big spanking because of that. Do you understand?” The spanking would of course not be severe, but Rose was still young enough that the gloom and doom threats could go a long way.

The little girl nodded, her curls bouncing as she did so, looking so very pitiful that Mycroft couldn’t help but let her cuddle up to his side for a moment. “It’s because Mother and I love you that we have these rules, so that you are safe from harm. We’d miss our Rose if something happened to you.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and patted her shoulder. “Alright, there will be more cuddles when it’s done,” he said after a moment.

Rose was short enough, and Mycroft and his chair tall enough, that she couldn’t quite get over his knee without help. As he assisted her, Rose began to cry before she was even completely settled in for a proper spanking. Mycroft forced himself to ignore it and lifted her nightgown up and out of the way before pulling her pants down to her knees. Yet another sigh escaped him when he rested his hand against her bottom. It was so large in comparison! Such a tiny, delicate little one he had the care and keeping of. Part of that care and keep, however, was bound to be unpleasant.

“My, ‘m sorry!” Rose pleaded as he raised his hand. “No, My! Don’t spank!” She yelped when his hand descended and quite firmly smacked her tender bum, causing her to squirm a bit in response to the sting.

Mycroft’s hand brought quite a lot more stinging to bear on the small bottom over his lap. For a few swats in a row, he covered both cheeks with his hand and then moved to give attention to each in turn, smacking first the right, then the left. From crest to crease and even the tops of her thighs, his hand turned the pale skin a bright, sore red, drawing wails and tears from Rose. To her it must seem as if the spanking went on forever, but Mycroft was moderate and measured in its delivery, ensuring he didn’t harm her yet made certain she would remember this spanking. In whole, it couldn’t have been more than two dozen sound smacks, but he was well aware that could feel like a thousand at Rose’s age.

Rose howled and wailed as if she was being murdered, hardly even noticing when Mycroft stopped smacking and put her clothing back to rights. As soon as he lifted her up into his arms, Rose pressed her face against his neck and cried.

“There, there, poppet,” Mycroft murmured as he patted her back. “I know, it smarts and stings quite a lot, but that’s so much better than being burnt, isn’t it?” He rocked her gently in his arms, letting Rose cry for as long as she needed to. “You are all forgiven and I will always love you, no matter how many ridiculous things you do Rose. Always.”

He wasn’t entirely certain how long they sat in his study together with Rose cuddled close but she was nearly asleep when Mycroft heard a knock at his study door. “Come in,” he called softly. He was completely unsurprised when Sherlock opened the door and stepped into the room.

“I thought… Ah, so I did hear,” Sherlock murmured. He glared at Mycroft, clearly cross that the eldest Holmes would be harsh with the littlest.

“She was trying to light a fire in the sitting room, brother mine. Hardly an offense to let go with a scolding,” Mycroft pointed out, giving his brother a frown in return.

“Tsk,” Sherlock clucked as he crossed the room. Without so much as a by your leave, he plucked Rose out of Mycroft’s arms and cuddled her close. “Was Mycroft quite mean to you?” he murmured, carrying the sleepy girl towards the door. “My poor Rosie. Don’t worry, I’ll get you all tucked up in bed snug and warm.” As quickly as Sherlock had appeared he was disappearing upstairs with Rose in his arms, ready to play his role as the softer, fun brother and leave Mycroft to himself.

It was hardly unusual, so Mycroft didn’t do more than roll his eyes and allow Sherlock to abscond with the baby. Only then did his attention return to the offending bit of paper that started the whole mess: Rose’s letter to Father Christmas. Resolving to help her build a fire and send it in the morning, Mycroft picked up the letter to look at it. It was all very typical, the usual greetings and promises that she had been a very good girl all year long and would very much like some sweeties in her stocking on Christmas Eve. Promises to leave biscuits and carrots out for Father Christmas and his reindeer, and finally, the list of things she ‘wanted most in all the world.’ That was his poppet, with a flair for the dramatic. As his eyes scanned the surprisingly short list, Mycroft’s attention was drawn by one request in particular:

_A doll from the American Girls collection, like my friend Louise got from her auntie in the States for her birthday._

Mycroft never paid attention to dolls, particularly those that made their way in and out of the Holmes townhouse with Rose and her little friend. They borrowed one another’s dolls, played hospital with the dolls, traded clothing and did all manner of things with their dolls. He could never keep track of anything and quite often all the dolls looked just alike. Not that he ever said as much to Rose, who would undoubtedly be offended if he admitted that all her dolls looked the same and he never committed their names to memory!

Opening his laptop, Mycroft did an internet search to locate the company in question. It turned out to be surprisingly easy to find and as he scanned the pages of potential dolls- and their massive wardrobes and furniture pieces and books!- a plan began to develop.

_2 December_

“One more chapter,” Rose murmured as she tugged at an expensive waistcoat. “One more, please?”

“No more,” Mycroft responded firmly. As he spoke, he worked to disengage her hand from his clothing. “Your eyes are hardly even open and it is most definitely time for you to be asleep. More chapters will be waiting tomorrow for you and whoever puts you to bed.

The little girl let out a huff before attempting a spectacular pout. “Mean.”

“Not mean.” Mycroft bent down and kissed her forehead. “Practical; little girls need sleep or they become very cranky. Sleep sweet poppet.”

Despite labeling him as ‘mean’ just a moment earlier, Rose wrapped her arms around him for a goodnight hug before burrowing under her covers. “Don’t forget Teddy,” she said sleepily.

With a put upon sigh, Mycroft patted the head of the bear he had given Rose the day she was born. “Goodnight Teddy.”

“My! Teddy needs kisses too!” Rose pointed out indignantly.

Mycroft’s eyebrow quirked. “No, Teddy does not need kisses.”

“She does, or she’ll cry very much and then I will have to sing to her and not go to sleep, otherwise she’ll cry the whole night long,” Rose explained. She sat up and held out the bear in question to her big brother. “I’ll tell Mummy if you don’t.”

“And what do you expect our good mother to do in response to such information?” Mycroft asked, rather amused at her threat.

The littlest Holmes had clearly not expected to be asked such a question and frowned as she formulated a response. “I don’t know,” Rose finally admitted, her face getting a bit red. “Please My?”

Sighing once more, Mycroft gave the proffered bear a light kiss on its head. “Ridiculous child,” he grumbled.

Rose merely smiled and replied, “Love you too, My. And thanks for helping me send my letter to Father Christmas this morning,” she added.

Mycroft murmured a response and, with everyone kissed, books put away, and lights out, he shut the bedroom door behind him and headed downstairs. Tea was awaiting him in the sitting room, along with Maud and Sherlock.

“Mother, have you purchased any gifts for Rose for Christmas? Either from you or Father Christmas?” Mycroft asked as he poured himself some tea.

“I haven’t no. I was going to do that in the next few days,” Maud admitted. “Why do you ask?”

“I had any idea for a combined gift from us. Hold one moment.” Mycroft disappeared into his study and returned a few moments later. “She wants one of these dolls. Apparently Louise has one?”

Maud smiled and nodded. “Louise received… this one,” she said, pointing to the Caroline Abbott doll. “It’s her favorite. I believe she received the book collection as well; poor Eleanor and Andrew could recite the books by heart at this point,” she chuckled.

Sherlock joined his siblings on the large sofa, looking over the items on the laptop screen. “These have education potential. The historically oriented ones at least,” he murmured. “You wish us to purchase one and all its paraphernalia towards her birthday and Christmas?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Mycroft replied. “A doll and its books, yes. I don’t necessarily agree with the rest of the items though. They are all oriented specifically towards the book set which I think is rather limiting in its scope. We could do better; provide her better items to stimulate curiosity and creativity.”

“So rather than purchase the clothing and furniture we could make them ourselves,” Maud said slowly. “Myc, that’s a delightful idea! How very thoughtful of you! This could even become a tradition for Rose’s Christmases for some time to come.”

Mycroft gave his mother a genuine smile before turning to his brother. “Sherlock, how are your woodworking skills?”

“Excellent, of course,” Sherlock said with a scowl. “Are you implying otherwise?”

“Boys, boys, no fighting! We’re planning baby’s Christmas, so let’s all be kind to one another,” Maud admonished. “You do wonderful woodwork Sherlock. Between now and Christmas morning, do you think you might be able to manage a doll bed and, say, a sofa and a chair? Or two chairs? If you make them, I can provide bedding and upholstery for them. Oh! You could make a bed with a trundle! When Louise comes, then her doll can have a bed that pulls out too, wouldn’t that be sweet?” Maud was grinning brightly at the thought of it, while her boys stared at her as if she were a lunatic.

“Mother, are you suggesting _dolls_ have sleepovers?” Mycroft inquired with an incredulous tone.

Maud chuckled. “Of course they do, Mycroft! Whenever Rose and Louise have sleepovers, there’s always at least one doll that goes from one house to another,” she pointed out. “They are Mummies and so they bring their babies, who naturally are best friends as well. It would be so very sweet if there was a pull out bed for Louise’s doll from this line.”

Sherlock and Mycroft exchanged a look of concern that Maud blithely ignored. “Alright, I believe I can manage to make a bed of that sort, along with a few other items,” Sherlock agreed. “What else does the doll need?”

“Probably something to put the wardrobe in. A sort of trunk like we have in the attic would be ideal,” Mycroft mused. “That way there won’t be random doll clothing all over the house. At least in theory. I can take care of that. Mother, could you handle the wardrobe?”

“Oh certainly!” Maud agreed. “I could even make a few items for Rose to match her doll. Her Christmas dress and a nightgown perhaps. She could get those on her birthday and have a lovely surprise come Christmas morning when her doll is able to match her!” Each year Maud made Rose a special dress for Christmas, which was gifted to the littlest Holmes on her birthday so that Rose could wear it Christmas day.

“I was thinking, with some of the clothes, they could be more historically oriented,” Mycroft spoke up. “Not all of them, of course, but if they are from different periods in history, or even career oriented, that would be a good way to peak her curiosity.”

“Oh Mycroft, that’s a brilliant idea!” Maud said with a gasp. “And that will be such fun! How many outfits should there be? Perhaps a dozen dress, a coat and nightgown?”

“You’re the doll expert Mother,” Sherlock quipped. “I’m sure Rose will be delighted with whatever you make her.”

“Though do try not to make every single outfit pink and/or polka dotted,” Mycroft added, smirking at his mother.

Maud only smiled and shook her head. “I’ll try Myc! The bigger issue at hand though, is how in the world are we going to keep Baby from discovering all these projects, or finding her gifts? She’s quite clever.”

“We can lock completed items in the closet in my study,” Mycroft offered. “She generally keeps out of there and as far as I am aware is unable to pick locks at present. Perhaps, Sherlock you could refrain from teaching her that skill until after her birthday and Christmas have passed?”

Sherlock scowled at his brother, but otherwise ignored him. It did not do to throw things at Mycroft in front of Mother! “Perhaps Father Christmas might leave a few things in her stocking? Accessories,” Sherlock suggested.

“That’s an excellent idea,” Mycroft agreed. “I’ll handle the Father Christmas gifts, the trunk, and perhaps one or two other things if we think of them in the meantime. Now, let’s strategize on how to keep the baby from discovering these projects mid creation!”

_5 December_

Secluded in his office, Mycroft wondered why in the world he had agreed to purchase Rose’s Father Christmas gifts for her stocking. Was it always this hard? What does one put in a stocking for a little girl? And what of those possible items would not give away her very special Christmas gifts from her family?

It was quite the conundrum, but slowly he was working on completing the task. Step one had been to seclude himself in his study and do some ordering of items online. It was amazing what one could purchase on the internet these days and Mycroft always found it particularly helpful. He was not the sort of man to wander children’s toy stores, especially in pursuit of gifts for a girl.

Just as he was about to place the order for Rose’s doll, one Samantha Parkington, and several items for the stocking, there was a knock on his door that was immediately followed by Rose entering the room.

“My! My I need your help!” Rose exclaimed, hurrying across the room towards him.

Mycroft quickly closed his lap top and turned his attention to Rose. “Is this the sort of emergency that requires the summing of fire or police?” he asked.

“No,” Rose said slowly. “Why?”

“Because the polite thing to do, if it’s not an emergency that requires a call to 999, to wait until I call for you to enter after knocking,” Mycroft reminded her. “Shall we try it again?” His tone must have had more of a stern edge to it than he intended because Rose immediately looked crestfallen, causing him to sigh. “Go on poppet, try it again,” he said more gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you in.”

Head down, Rose shuffled out of the study, closing the door behind her. A second later she knocked, adding a loud “May I come in, My, please?”

Mycroft waited a few seconds before responding. “Yes you may,” he called back. The door once more flew open and Rose shuffled into the room, biting on her lip. He crooked his finger at her and watched her cross the room. Once she was close enough he reached out and picked her up, settling her on his lap. “Thank you very much Rose, that was such a good girl,” he praised. A smile tugged at his lips when Rose snuggled close and he immediately held her just a bit tighter.

“My, I need your help and it’s very, very important,” Rose said excitedly. “It’s very nearly almost Christmas and I need to get presents for Sherlock and Mummy! I need to get presents for you too, but you can’t help me buy your own present because then you would know and be very sad when you open your gift Christmas morning,” she pointed out. “What are Mummy’s favorite books? Can we get her something about her favorite books?”

“Mother’s favorites are _Pride and Prejudice_ and _Persuasion_ by Jane Austen. They’ve been her favorites since she was twelve,” Mycroft told her. “Did you have anything special in mind? Or should I look around and see what I can find online?” Surely there were items available pertaining to the books that Mother might enjoy.

“That’s a good idea,” Rose decided. “Look for something for Sherlock to get her too! And I need to get him something but I don’t know what. I was gonna look in his experiment room and see if he needed anything in there, but he wouldn’t even let me in at all and wouldn’t tell me why either. Is he doing something naughty?”

Mycroft chuckled loudly before kissing the top of Rose’s head. “Hopefully he isn’t! I bet he’s got secrets of his own, just like you and I will have secrets about Mother’s gifts. So be a good girl if he won’t let you in and won’t say why,” he advised.

“Oh,” she said thoughtfully. “We have lots of secrets around Christmas time, don’t we? Surprises are lovely.”

“And someone I know has a birthday coming up. Do you know who that is?” Mycroft asked.

“Me! Me, me, me! I’ll be six!” She bounced a bit in his arms.

The eldest Holmes chuckled. “It is you indeed. Now you go run and play and think about what you might like to get Sherlock and I’ll look for some things for Mother that you can pick from. But I have secrets too and you’re interrupting them,” he admitted. “I’ll come find you in a bit when I’m ready for you, alright?”

Rose nodded her agreement and hugged him tightly before sliding off Mycroft’s lap and skipping out of the study.

_12 December_

Maud ran her hands over the sanded wood of the day bed. “Oh Sherlock, its lovely,” she murmured. “This is fine work, my sweet boy. These little knobs even!” Setting the bed down on the coffee table she gently pulled on the knobs, bringing the trundle out from under the bed.

“And the specifications are correct? For an 18 inch doll? With enough room for Mother to provide the mattress and bed coverings?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Obviously, Mycroft. I’m quite certain I know how to measure things and build them accordingly.”

“Myc just wants to make everything perfect for Baby,” Maud soothed, kissing Sherlock’s cheek.

“I thought I might paint it to match Rosie’s room; white with little pink bows along the edges here,” Sherlock indicated the top of the curved backboard. “And here on the trundle. Perhaps paint the knobs pink as well?”

Attempting to make peace with his brother, Mycroft nodded. “She’d like that Sherlock. Especially since you are the one doing the decorating. It is fine work, brother mine.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his brother and was just about to respond when the Rose could be heard outside the front door. Grabbing up the bed he hurried upstairs and back into his experiment room to continue working on her gift.

“Mummy! You’re home!” Rose called out when Mycroft let her in. She flew across the sitting room and into Maud’s arms. “Did the mail come yet Mummy? I’m expecting boxes.”

Maud snuggled up her little one and pressed a kiss to her curly head. “I haven’t seen the mail yet, baby. Just what are you expecting, hm?” She tickled Rose a bit, making the little girl laugh.

“Secrets Mummy, Christmas secrets,” Rose said. “I can’t tell you. Only My knows and I swore him to secrecy and he won’t tell a soul. If he does, I’m going to eat all his sweeties in his desk. He doesn’t know, but I can pick the lock on that drawer. Sherlock showed me,” she whispered conspiratorially.

“Of course he did,” Maud replied with a sigh. “Mummy would prefer you not be picking locks in this house, so please don’t do it. But I’m sure you were just being silly with Myc, weren’t you?”

Rose nodded dutifully. “I was just being silly. He said he’d give me away if I told you what _he_ got you for Christmas and I know that’s not true.”

This time Maud couldn’t help laughing. “Yes, that does sound like something your big brother would say without ever meaning it. Now, I have a very important question for you. Two questions actually! One, would you like to help me pick out our menu for Christmas dinner? And two, can Mummy count on you to be my best helper when we cook on Christmas?”

The little girl’s face lit up with a sunny smile. “Yes to both! I love cooking with you Mummy!” Rose threw her arms around Maud and nestled as close as she could, sighing with contentment. “Can we get out all your cookbooks and decide what to make, right now? We must make trifle Mummy, its mine and My’s very favorite. And the little pies too, the mince ones.”

“We will have both those things and more. It’ll be a lovely feast for us,” Maud assured her little one.

_15 December_

“You have out done yourself Mother,” Sherlock murmured. He gently fingered the intricate midnight blue renaissance dress Maud had made for Rose’s doll. “They’re all beautiful. She’ll be so thrilled.”

Mycroft looked somewhat less enthusiastic about it. He held up a white dress with cap sleeves that featured a beautiful lace overlay and a veil. “Really Mother? A wedding dress?”

Maud chuckled and shook her head. “You should see the look on your face right now Mycroft. Don’t be so concerned! It’s perfectly normal for little girls to play weddings with their dolls. I did,” she pointed out.

“Well there is no reason to encourage her to start thinking about that already,” Mycroft grumbled. “She doesn’t need any more ideas in that head of hers. She has plenty as it is, and most of them involve mischief! Wedding dress aside, I must commend you on your ability to avoid making every outfit pink and polka dotted. I had little faith you could accomplish this.”

“Oh Mikey, you’re ridiculous,” Maud laughed. “I take it everything meets everyone’s approval? I made Rose a matching nightgown and robe set and Christmas dress for her birthday.” Maud indicated the soft peach colored nightgown and matching robe with matching roses on the robe.

“I thought perhaps the set of books, the bed and the doll trunk would do for the birthday gifts,” Mycroft said. “Along with the clothing. She won’t know what’s coming; merely that she has something new for her existing dolls.”

Suddenly a knock was heard at the door. “What’s going on?” Rose called from the hallway. “I know everybody is in there! Can I come in too? I need someone to help me wrap gifts because Mummy says I can’t use the scissors by myself!” She attempted to turn the knob and enter the room, only to find it locked. “Hey, why is everybody locking me out? That’s very rude!”

“Just a moment!” Maud called back. There was a flurry of activity inside the room as clothing and furniture items were stuffed into every available space in order to keep Rose from discovering her gifts.

Finally the door was thrown open and before Rose could even look inside, Sherlock scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder. Rose squealed and wriggled, but he held on tightly and quickly moved her away from the room, knowing if he could get her diverted that Mother and Mycroft could lock up her gifts.

“Presents, where are the presents?” Sherlock asked.

“In my room silly! In their boxes. The scissors are in Mummy’s room,” Rose told him. She let out a screech as Sherlock pretended to ‘drop’ her, only to catch her at the last minute.

Mycroft was just about to open his mouth and give Sherlock a piece of his mind about behaving so recklessly with Rose when the child in question began giggling hysterically and calling for Sherlock to do it again. “He’s going to maim her one of these days,” he muttered under his breath.

“Well before he does, let’s hide her gifts in your study,” Maud suggested before shoving the bed into his hands.

“How do you act so blithely about it Mother?” Mycroft asked sincerely. “One of these times he really will hurt her, by accident of course, but it’s bound to happen.”

Maud smiled indulgently at her eldest son. “Well Sherlock hurt himself plenty of times at her age and is just fine.”

“That, Mother, is debatable,” Mycroft intoned.

_20 December_

Rose’s birthday arrived on a surprisingly sunny Saturday and along with it came twelve friends from dance, including Louise Gardner. As soon as the children began arriving, Mycroft went to hide in his study, having no desire at all to spend his time with a crowd of very loud six year olds, of which his sister seemed to be the very loudest of all.

Attempting to bury himself in his work wasn’t very hard considering the nature of his work. What was hard, however, was blocking the noise. Little feet ran up and down the hallways, there was squealing and laughing, every possible sound imaginable. Worse yet, his mother was determined not to let him stay out of the festivities.

“Mikey,” Maud called, knocking loudly on his study door. “Rose is about to open presents and then have cake. You should come join us now.”

The door opened to reveal a scowling Mycroft. “Do I have to Mother? All those children…”

“They won’t hurt you Myc, I promise. It would mean the world to Baby if you came out, even just for a little bit,” Maud encouraged. “Come along. You’re a brave man Mycroft Holmes, you can manage a half hour among children.”

With a put-upon sigh, Mycroft followed her out of his study and walked with her to the sitting room. Sure enough, twelve little children were sitting in a circle around Rose, whose pile of gifts was nearly taller than she was. As he stepped into the room, a hush fell over it as the children tried to process who this new person was, so tall and formally dressed with a scowl on his face.

“’Llo Mr. Holmes!” Louise bravely called.

“Hello Louise,” Mycroft responded formally. He surveyed the group of children with a frown as he tried to determine where would be the safest to sit.

“Who’s that?” one of the boys whispered loudly. “Is that her Daddy? He doesn’t look very happy.”

Mycroft let out a put-upon sigh and gave his mother a _look_.

Louise proceeded to poke the whispering boy. “That’s her brother, stupid,” she whispered.

“Don’t call me stupid!” The boy promptly pushed Louise, who immediately pushed back even harder.

“Don’t push my brother, that’s rude!” A somewhat older girl commented before pushing Louise.

Within the span of thirty seconds it seemed as is every child in the room was poking, pushing or name-calling, the presence of the formidable and well dressed gentleman whose appearance started this all but forgotten.

“Children! Children this is supposed to be a happy day, let’s not fight with one another over something so silly,” Maud admonished. “Veronica, don’t do that! Jamie, you cannot punch her, even if that is your sister and she called you a name! Really, this is inappropriate children; let’s put our energy into playing a game instead! Or go right to the cake, hm? Now, Milly…”

Mycroft watched for a moment as his mother bravely tried to calm the children down before it turned into a child-like version of the sort of brawl one sees in American western films. When it became clear that no one was listening to her and the pushing was increasing, Mycroft took it upon himself to step in. First and foremost, his priority was Rose, who was caught in the middle of all this shoving and yelling nonsense, watching it was wide eyes. She was tiny compared to the others and could be hurt, so his first concern was to remove her from harm’s way, namely by scooping her up and then setting her down on the couch.

“ENOUGH!” Mycroft shouted in a commanding tone.

Eleven pairs of eyes locked on the tall, angry figure in the center of the room.

“Trust me when I say there are enough corners in this house to put every single one of you in one for the remainder of the party and don’t believe for even a _second_ that I won’t do just that,” Mycroft threatened. “This is a birthday party, not the annual meeting of local hooligans! Apologize to your hostesses immediately or I’ll start escorting you lot to your separate corners!” He watched with arms crossed over his chest, as each of the children apologized to both Rose and Mother.

“Now I do believe it’s time for presents to be opened, so let’s do that in an orderly fashion, shall we? We are all ladies and gentlemen here, after all,” Mycroft reminded them. “Rose, come sit on the floor again and start opening your gifts. Make sure you remember to read the tag and say thank you.”

\---------------------------------------------

An eternity passed before all the children had been picked up by their respective parents and Mycroft could breathe a sigh of relief. “Mother, I am not a child wrangler,” he announced when he closed the front door for the last time.

“Well your efforts were appreciated all the same. Perhaps a smaller party next time,” Maud mused.

“That might be advisable, yes,” Mycroft agreed. He smiled fondly at Rose as she scampered over to him.

“My? Thanks for making everyone stop fighting so my party didn’t get ruined,” the birthday girl said with a smile. “That was very brave, because you were outnumbered.”

Mycroft chuckled and picked Rose up, holding her close. “Did you enjoy your party anyway? I’m glad,” he told her sincerely when she nodded. He had been pleased to see how excited she was earlier at receiving the bed, the doll trunk, and a little school desk that Mycroft had found online.

Rose kissed his cheek and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you for my gifts My! I don’t think I have any dollies big enough for the bed and desk though, but it’s okay if they are small dolls, right? Like me, I’m very small.”

“Precisely so. You are the perfect size for one Rosenwyn Holmes,” Mycroft assured her. “Plus, you never know what Father Christmas might bring you,” he added in a conspiratorial whisper. He couldn’t help smiling at the joyous look on her face at such a possibility.

“Did you see my Christmas dress? And my pajamas? Mummy made them both for me! She made the bed set too, and she’s been hiding it for ages,” Rose told him. “I love Christmas secrets best of all.”

“No, I did not see! Will you show me what Mother made you? Mother’s a fine seamstress,” Mycroft commented, giving his tired Mother a smile. He set Rose down and watched as she ran off to find her gifts.

Rose showed off the pajamas, but it was the dress of which she seemed most proud. Then again, Rose always loved her Christmas dresses. This one was made of a floral vine print in wine and gold on white with a wine colored bodice. The sleeves were contrast cuffs in the vine print. “I’ve even got a hat and it’s vintage, My!”

“Vintage inspired, Baby,” Maud corrected with a smile. “A bit of an updated Edwardian style. I thought my little love would look very smart in it and the colors would be quite pretty for Christmas.” Rose’s excitement over the holiday and her special gifts made Maud smile brightly.

_22 December_

“Would you mind picking up your end a bit more, brother mine?” Mycroft grumbled, straining under the weight of a massive pine tree. _Whichever bloody German thought this tradition was the one to make stick ought to be shot_ , he mused inwardly.

“I am!” Sherlock shouted back from the opposite end of the tree. “No! No wait! ROSE!”

Icy fear filled Mycroft’s veins as he looked over to see Rose dash out the door in just her slippers and nightgown and that infernal tinsel she always insisted on wearing. She narrowly missed running smack into Sherlock who attempted to move his end of the tree out of the way before she smashed into it. With a strangled cry, Sherlock’s feet slid out from under him and he, along with the top end of the tree, fell onto the ground.

Mycroft immediately dropped his end of the tree and ran over to Sherlock who was gasping for air. Thankfully the tree had not fallen on Sherlock, but it had been a narrow miss indeed. “Are you injured?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Got the wind knocked out of me,” he wheezed. “Uninjured.”

The littlest Holmes, completely oblivious to her big brother’s distress, was jumping and leaping around the tree. She reached out her hands to touch the green branches, somehow impervious to the cold winter air all around her. “It’s perfect! And you were hardly gone for very long at all! It must have been waiting for you,” Rose decided. She skipped over to her brothers, stopping short when she saw Sherlock on the ground. “What happened?”

“You happened, sister mine,” Mycroft responded. “You know better than to be near the entry way when we’re bringing in the tree. And here you are in slippers and nightclothes! Whatever is going on in that silly head of yours? Back inside with you and stay out of our way!” He added a hearty smack to her bum that propelled her towards the front door, ignoring Rose’s indignant yelp.

“I could help,” Rose told him with a pout. She made a dramatic show of rubbing her bottom as she headed towards the door.

“You can help by going inside and staying well out of our way,” Mycroft told her. “If I see you out here while we’re still wrestling with this tree, I will personally cancel Christmas.”

Rose let out a gasp, her eyes growing round and wide. “Cancel Christmas? But… but you can’t do that! Only Father Christmas could do that and he would never!”

Mycroft gave her a stern look, arching an eyebrow. “Do you want to find out if I can? Or do you want to go inside the house like you were told?” He nodded with approval when Rose turned around and dashed into the house, fleeing like a fawn in the woods.

As soon as Rose disappeared inside the house, Sherlock began laughing. “Cancel Christmas! The look on her face!” He sat up slowly, holding his belly as he did so.

“Shut up and get up from the ground already, Sherlock,” Mycroft snapped. “We still have a tree to get into the sitting room!”

\-------------------------------------------

“Tinsel belongs on the tree Rosenwyn, not on you,” Mycroft commented as Rose dashed by for the umpteenth time. She was followed shortly thereafter by Sherlock, who was hurling plastic Christmas bulbs at her while she squealed and attempted to dodge them.

“Thief! Christmas thief! Stealing our tinsel! You shall be caught and punished!” Sherlock as chased and tossed ornaments at her from a giant box he was carrying.

“Mother is trying to rest!” Mycroft called out. “Both of you quiet down!” He was blithely ignored by his younger siblings. “Sherlock if you throw one more bulb at Rose, I swear I will make you regret it!”

Smirking delightedly, Sherlock continued to throw ornaments at Rose, grinning as his sister dissolved into giggles and crawled under the kitchen table to get away from him. She snatched up discarded ornaments and tossed them back at Sherlock from under the table.

“SHERLOCK! ROSE!” Mycroft thundered as he entered the kitchen after them. “If you both don’t settle down and stop throwing things by the time I count to three, there are going to be serious consequences! One…” A vein in his temple throbbed as they continued to ignore him.

“Two…”

The siblings looked over at Mycroft, then at one another, sharing a smirk.

“Three!”

As soon as the word left Mycroft’s mouth, the younger Holmes siblings tossed a final ornament at one another.

“That is _it_. I’m getting the naughty stick and there _will_ be spankings!” Mycroft turned around and exited the kitchen with a determined pace.

Once more Sherlock and Rose locked eyes with one another, but rather than twinkle with mischief, their eyes grew wide with alarm. “Mycroft, that’s really not necessary. We’ve stopped now!” Sherlock called, chasing after the eldest Holmes.

Rose was hot on Sherlock’s heels. “My, we were just playing, please don’t be mad!” Her small feet fairly flew across the floor to keep up with her brothers and she skidded to a stop just in front of the hall closet. The door was already open and Mycroft had located the infamous naughty stick, which looked as scary as Rose had always thought it would be!

Twenty-four inches long, an inch wide and (rather deceptively) only half an inch thick, Rose had it on good authority that the walnut ‘naughty stick’ packed a mighty sting. The only serious spanking implement that the country house boasted, it had originally been purchased and given to Maud as a gag gift by William, back when Sherlock had been much younger and always in trouble. Little did he expect that Maud might actually decide to use it one day and discover it to be quite an effective tool for correcting serious misbehaviors that begged for more than a good dose of the spanking spoon.

It was quite the fearsome implement and Rose herself vividly remembered Sherlock being escorted into Mycroft’s office last year at Christmas time and the naughty stick had reduced her brave big brother to tears. Rumor even had it that even Mycroft himself had had a dose of the naughty stick long before she was born. Surely My wouldn’t use such a nasty thing on _her_ bottom!

Unwilling to take the chance that he might, Rose decided to play peacemaker. Crossing the distance between them, she tugged hard on Mycroft’s right arm. “We’ll stop now,” she pleaded. “We’ll clean up and we’ll be very, very good. We were just playing, and not with the glass ones,” Rose pointed out. “Please don’t be mad, we’re very, very sorry.”

Mycroft looked down at Rose, feeling his heart melt just a bit at the look of sincere pleading his baby sister wore.

“We’re really sorry and we’ll be very good. And it’s Christmas My!” Rose added, tugging on his arm again.

“Are we sorry?” Sherlock asked, looking down at Rose with a smirk.

More than fed up with Sherlock’s instigating such deplorable behavior, particularly while Mother was trying to rest, Mycroft lightly smacked Sherlock’s thigh with the naughty stick.

The younger Holmes brother yelped and immediately began rubbing at the smacked spot, giving Mycroft a scowl. “Alright we _are_ sorry. It was just a bit of silliness but we’ll stop now,” Sherlock offered. “There’s no need to be a scrooge Mycroft.”

“Fine,” Mycroft decided with a sigh. “All I wanted was for us to decorate the tree while Mother rested and surprise her with it, not create noise and havoc all over the place down here. I want you both to promise that there will be no more throwing of _anything_ at one another.” When promises were given, Mycroft put the spanking implement back in the front closet.

The littlest Holmes rewarded her big brother with a smile before hurrying off to collect all the ornaments that had been strewn about.

“You wouldn’t _really_ use that on Rosie, would you?” Sherlock asked quietly when Rose was out of hearing range.

“Heavens no!” Mycroft hurried to assure him, looking rather aghast at the very idea of it. “At least not for several years yet. She’s very small and young Sherlock, and I always take that into account no matter how much she misbehaves. Yet if the very _thought_ of me potentially smacking her bottom with it entices her to behave, I’m quite alright with that. You two really are the very bane of my existence at times, do you know that?”

“We try,” Sherlock smirked. “Well, I try, and Rose is always quick to follow my example. I’ll attempt not to lead her too much astray,” he offered.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, a silent warning that there had better not be any leading astray of the baby during the holiday! “I’m going to make a cup of tea and I’m tasking you and Rose with the decorating. I’ll take a supervisory role from a chair by the fireplace with my tea.”

\---------------------------------------------------

A few hours later, Maud descended the staircase and came into the sitting room to find a room thoroughly transformed. Gone was its mix of homey elements among the stateliness of some of the room’s décor, replaced with a Christmas wonderland. The tree was fully decorated, tinsel lined much of the room, there was even mistletoe hung! Add a cheery fire roaring in the fireplace and the divine scent of the pine tree it was like entering a whole other world.

“I have the very best children in the entirety of the world,” Maud announced emphatically. “You very dear things! It’s absolutely lovely and such a surprise!” She immediately began dispensing hugs and kisses to her presently well behaved children. The littlest was gathered up in a great big hug, her face covered in kisses as she laughed before being nestled close for a brief but hearty cuddle. The middle child extended his arms towards his mother, ready to accept the obligatory hug, and the kiss to each cheek. It was a clear indication of Sherlock’s affection towards Maud to be so readily affectionate with someone other than Rose.

Where the middle child accepted, if not outright welcomed, his mother’s shower of sentimental gestures, the eldest of Maud’s children was another matter entirely. Rarely did he initiate any sort of physical contact with his mother, yet equally rarely were the times he firmly rebutted it.

The middle and little Holmes watched with bated breath as Maud crossed the room and pulled Mycroft into a hug. The eldest Holmes surprised them all, wrapping his arms around her and giving Maud a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s a Christmas miracle!” Rose shouted.

_24 December_

“Do you think she’s asleep yet?” Mycroft asked as he finished off the last biscuit. Rose had insisted on leaving biscuits and milk for Father Christmas and some carrots for the reindeer and, knowing she would be terribly upset if it did not look like her treats were devoured as they should be, the brothers had taken it upon themselves to make it look as if the little feast had been eaten.

Sherlock looked over at the grandfather clock in the sitting room. “Probably, it’s just past 11. I tucked her in at 9. Her determination to stay up and meet Father Christmas by the tree did not quite pan out as she had hoped,” he chuckled. “The merriment of the day, combined with all the baking, wore her out.”

“This is about when I would go in,” Maud added. “I think it’s relatively safe Mikey. Did you enjoy picking out Baby’s Father Christmas gifts?”

“I don’t know if _enjoy_ is quite the right word for it,” Mycroft admitted. “But I think I did reasonably well.”

Sherlock snorted. “He means his PA did reasonably well.”

“I merely consulted her and then selected from among her suggestions! I don’t go shopping for little children’s toys,” Mycroft pointed out with a frown.

“You’d certainly look horribly out of place! Ouch!” Sherlock rubbed the back of his head, scowling at his brother’s retreating form.

Walking softly, Mycroft ascended the stairs and carefully opened Rose’s bedroom door. He paused, watching her for a moment to make certain she was asleep but Rose never stirred from her slumber. Crossing the room he rolled his eyes at the bright pink stocking attached to the end of her bed, though in reality he didn’t expect anything else from Rose!

Three pairs of shoes for her new doll, several packets of peppermint hot cocoa, animals shaped erasers, tiny owls filled with lip gloss and ridiculously frilly hair ribbons went into the hideous looking stocking, along with the obligatory sweeties and chocolates. God help them all if she ate all those sugary things at once! More importantly, however, Mycroft truly hoped Rose would enjoy all her Father Christmas gifts. He might not be seen buying ‘girly’ gifts, or necessarily know what one might find in a girl’s Christmas stocking, but once Gaines had supplied with him some suggestions, he had admittedly enjoyed picking out items he thought his poppet might enjoy.

Just as the last item went into her stocking, Rose murmured in her sleep and rolled over in the bed. Mycroft tried to hurry out of her bedroom in a quiet and dignified fashion, but failed in his quest when he heard a tiny, sleepy voice call “My?”

Tossing the bag that had held her gifts out of the bedroom door, Mycroft turned back to the barely awake little girl. Crossing the room once more, he reached for her duvet and tucked it in tightly around her, murmuring a soft “Shh. Go back to sleep poppet.”

Rose burrowed under the covers a bit more, soaking in the warmth. “Is everything okay?” Her eyes, barely open before, opened a bit wider as she searched her brother’s face for signs that something was amiss.

Mycroft sat down on the bed and began rubbing her back through the duvet. “Nothing is wrong,” he assured her. “I merely came in to check on you. I do that every night, but you never know, because you’re sleeping,” he admitted truthfully. “I come in and tuck the covers in tightly around you and sometimes rub your back just like this if you seem to be restless. I have ever since you were born.”

The sleepy girl under the covers rewarded him with a smile. “I love you too, My,” Rose whispered.

“I know, and I you.” He leaned down and kissed her curly head. “Close your eyes and go back to sleep now, Rose.” Mycroft smiled when she dutifully closed her eyes once more. He remained there for several minutes, softly rubbing circles on her back, until he was certain she was sleeping soundly again.

_25 December_

“HAPPY CHRISTMAS!”

Mycroft jerked awake at the sound of Rose’s shouting, just as she dived onto his bed.

“Wake up, wake up, its Christmas morning!”

Groaning, the eldest Holmes opened his blurry eyes and tried to focus them on the clock beside his bed. 6:55 am. “Go back to bed,” he grumbled. “And stop bouncing!”

“No, you have to wake up, it’s Christmas!” The little bundle of energy bounced once more on his bed before scurrying out of the room to wake her mother and Sherlock in much the same manner. They, of course, were more indulgent of her excitement. Mycroft required copious amounts of tea before he could be persuaded to forgive even Rose for waking him so bloody early on a day there wasn’t a world war looming! Though why he had ever hoped for otherwise, he had no idea; this was, after all, Rose’s Christmas tradition.

With her family sufficiently roused, Rose grabbed her stocking from the end of her bed and carried it downstairs. Just as Mycroft descended the stairs, praying for some tea, Rose began to pull items from her stocking. He smirked a bit as she squealed and called out to everyone to come see what she got from Father Christmas.

“Look Mummy, look! I got ballerina slippers for a doll!” Rose held up a pair of small pink ballet slippers, complete with laces that would lace up a doll’s leg like real slippers did. A sparkly red pair of Mary Janes followed, as did a pair of black, Victorian boots with real laces and even some black and white oxfords.

Maud, Sherlock and Mycroft gathered around on the couch while they watched Rose discover what was in her stocking. She let out a little gasp, her mouth forming an ‘o’ as she pulled out three little owls. “Make-up! I got make-up!”

The Holmes matriarch looked at Mycroft with alarm. The baby was just six, far too little for make-up! She was greatly relieved when Mycroft gave a slight shake of his head and mouthed the words ‘lip gloss.’

Many more squeals were to follow as Rose discovered various colored hair ribbons on barrettes, including a pink _and_ a polka dotted one. The packets of cocoa followed and, oddly enough- at least to Mycroft- it was the zoo animal erasers that garnered the most praise. “A giraffe and a pig and a cow and a panda and even an elephant! They’re lovely,” Rose decided. “And I’m not bringing them to school because I don’t want to share them with anyone.”

Maud laughed and hugged her little one close. “That’s just fine. Father Christmas gifts don’t have to be shared if you don’t wish to, Baby. Should we see what’s under the tree for everyone?” The tree had been void of gifts until after Rose had gone to bed the night before to prevent a burst of excitement to result in an unwrapped gift before Christmas morning.

Rose jumped up to begin passing out the gifts to everyone while Maud hurriedly brought in tea and scones for each of them. Mycroft gave his mother a grateful smile and breathed in the scent of his favorite brew.

Sherlock hauled a very large box to the center of the room. “This one is for you Rose,” he said, placing it gently on the floor. “It feels very heavy! Any guesses what could be inside?”

Rose shook her head no, her bright blue eyes growing wide. “Is that one really for me?” Her imagination began to run wild with the possibilities of marvelous, wonderful gifts that could be inside it.

“It is,” Mycroft confirmed. “And it would be terrible of us to make you wait, so why don’t you go first? Open slowly,” he cautioned.

Needing no further encouragement, Rose began to tear away the wrapping paper, revealing a large cardboard box. The box was opened and rather than let out her usual squeal of excitement, Rose went completely still and quiet. Nestled inside the box was the doll she had been hoping most of all to get. Carefully she extracted the Samantha doll and examined the cheerful dress before turning her attention to the rest of the items.

It was a box without end! As Samantha sat beside her, Rose discovered a couch, chair and coffee table, all painted pretty white with black and white brocade cushions. In addition to these new items of furniture, there was an entire doll wardrobe awaiting discovery. A jaunty pink fleece coat and hat with gray trim and even a gray muff; a dress that matched Rose’s Christmas dress; a red poodle skirt with a lace trimmed white blouse. A plaid tunic and black skirt with a matching hat, a blue checked dress with black buttons and trim; and a black and red dance costume were among this new wardrobe. Each delicate detail, lovingly stitched by her Mother’s hand, was worthy of inspection and the rest of the room was drowned out by her quiet examination of each of her gifts.

While Rose marveled over her gifts, bringing smiles to her family’s faces, the rest of the Holmes family exchanged gifts. Sherlock gave his mother a monographed candle holder and a CD of Jane Austen era music while Mycroft’s gift to Maud revealed a beautiful yellow and white stationary set, managing to capture her favorite color and one of her favorite activities- letter writing- all in one gift. Sherlock received money for much needed experiment supplies along with new beakers and assorted tools. Mycroft found two canisters of his favorite tea selections in his package from Sherlock. Soon all that was left were Rose’s gifts to her family.

“Baby,” Maud called. “How do you like your gifts?” They all waited for the momentarily quiet girl to give her opinion on her special Christmas surprises.

“They’re lovely,” Rose said reverently. “This is the doll I wanted the most of all and Mummy, these outfits are so much better than the ones in the catalog! Some are from different times in history and they’re so pretty. Samantha will have so much fun in them, and she gets to match me today! Plus she has the beginnings of her very own house. Her bed that I got for my birthday and now a whole sitting room set. Louise can bring her doll and play and everything!”

After carefully setting Samantha down among her many gifts, Rose gave hugs to each of her family members before settling herself in Mycroft’s lap to watch them open the gifts from her. “You first My,” she decided. “Your gift was very expensive, so Mummy and I bought it together for you!”

Mycroft’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Could it possibly be a new addition to his collection of first edition novels? He carefully tore away the cheerful, snowman covered wrapping paper to reveal what appeared to be a first edition of _Adventures in the Land of the Behemoth_ by his favorite author, Jules Verne. A quick look inside the cover and first few pages revealed that it was exactly as he’d hoped: a first printing!

“This… is a wonderful gift,” Mycroft said quietly. He was quiet in reverence of the book, not because of sentiment; no, definitely not sentiment! “However did you find it? I’ve been looking for this for years!”

“I had eyes and ears at the best antique shops and bookstores in London and beyond,” Maud admitted. “Rose and I visited many of them to inspect their first edition offerings after school the past several months until we located this one.”

The eldest Holmes sibling smiled and nodded with pleasure, setting aside the book before wrapping his arms around his baby sister. “Thank you poppet,” he whispered, hugging her tightly. Mycroft pressed a kiss to the top of her head before receiving copious amounts of hugs and kisses from Rose in return as she relayed the story of the book’s discovery. He resolved to give his mother a hug at the very first opportunity, deeply touched by the efforts she and Rose had gone to for his gift- not to mention the expense!

“Sherlock next!” Rose declared. She grinned brightly as Sherlock unwrapped his new book light and a mug with the periodic table on it, and then laughed as Mycroft passed her off to Sherlock for thank you hugs.

Last but not least was Maud’s turn. Her large bag revealed a treasure trove of Jane Austen items: book plates for her books, a specially scented candle based on Austen’s favorite scents, and a beautiful ornament to add to the tree. After yet more kisses and hugs made their rounds and the wrapping paper was picked up and put in the bins, the Holmes family scattered to dress and get ready for the rest of their Christmas day.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Many hours later the family sat quietly together in the sitting room amongst blankets and a cheery fire while watching a black and white Christmas film on the telly. The day had been filled with merriment, good food, enjoyment of new gifts, and had finally calmed down to enjoy the last of the family traditions: a Christmas film. It was a tradition William had started when Mycroft was a little boy and it had been continued long after his death. It provided a moment to relax and be together without the flurry of presents, food and other elements of the day.

This moment to relax was much needed, Mycroft reflected. Mother looked half exhausted after a day keeping up with the three of them and manning the helm, so to speak. She never slowed down for a rest not on such a special holiday, and he admired her determination. The day’s events had worn Rose out as well; the littlest Holmes was cuddled between her brothers, holding on to her new doll tightly, the two of them dressed in their matching nightgowns and robes.

“I think I’ll put Rose to bed,” Mycroft said softly. When Maud nodded, he carefully stood up from the couch and picked the little girl up to carry her upstairs. Rose hardly even stirred, even when he laid her down in the bed and began tucking the covers around her.

“Bedtime?” she murmured sleepily.

“Bedtime,” Mycroft confirmed. “For you and Samantha so you both can rest up for new adventures tomorrow.” Once she was tucked in, he sat down on the bed and began rubbing circles on her back. “Did you have a good Christmas poppet?”

Rose smiled and nodded, giving a little hum instead of a verbal response. Mycroft didn’t miss the way she hugged her Samantha doll even tighter as she did so.

“I’m very glad. Merry Christmas one last time,” he said before leaning over to kiss her temple. “Sleep well and have happy dreams.” Mycroft sat for a moment longer, until he was certain she was asleep and then quietly exited the room. It had been a very good Christmas indeed.


	36. Once Upon a Birthday Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the first holiday season since Maud's passing approaches, can Mycroft and Sherlock make Rose's birthday one to remember and add some new traditions to the old?

Something had upset her in the store and he should have seen this coming. What it was that upset her Sherlock didn’t know, but his baby sister’s eyes were distinctly teary looking on the cab ride back home.  He had wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to his side as much as the seatbelt would allow, and kissed the top of her head. Inwardly Sherlock resolved to raid the biscuit tin with Rose and give her a good cuddle after they took the shopping inside the house. He’d paid the driver and grabbed a few of the bags, asking Rose to take one of the lighter ones inside.

Only she hadn’t taken the bag from him and within a matter of moments, Sherlock had ascertained that Rose was gone. _Again_. Dropping the bags just inside the front door and yelling for their cook, Terre’ to come quickly and collect them, Sherlock then reached for his mobile.

\---------------------------------------------------------

“Mycroft, please don’t start shouting.” The eldest Holmes closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Conversations that began with Sherlock making that kind of statement were never good ones.

“Rose has gone missing. She’s not with any of her friends and I’m at the park closest to the house and there’s no sign of her. She was right beside me and then was just gone!” Sherlock’s own attempts to remain cool, calm and collected were beginning to unravel.

Mycroft’s heart seemed to stop for a moment as he processed his brother’s words. Gone could mean kidnapped! “BENCHLEY!” he shouted for his P.A. “Sherlock, where was she last seen? Is there evidence of kidnapping?”

When Benchley hurried into his office, Mycroft momentarily ignored Sherlock, giving directives to her instead. “I want the most senior police officer you can locate on the phone in the next 90 seconds, followed by--” He was cut off as Sherlock shouted his name.

“Not kidnapped! Not kidnapped!” Sherlock shouted, attempting to reclaim his brother’s attention. “Sort of vanished, but she can’t be that far.”

“Not—You mean she’s wandered off again?!” This time it was Mycroft doing the shouting and for very good reason. This was the third time in the past two weeks that Rose had just decided to go off and wander around on her own, an appalling habit that Sherlock had always had. The last thing Mycroft wanted was Rose to make this her habit as well. It was dangerous out there; she wasn’t even quite eleven years old yet! Not to mention it was the beginning of December, meaning London was quite chilly most days.

“I told you to handle this!” Mycroft continued on. Benchley reappeared in his office doorway, motioning to the telephone on his desk but disappeared when he waved her off.

“I’ve been trying! I--”

“Yes, you’ve tried oh-so-hard,” the eldest Holmes ground out. “The first time, you talked with her about _feelings,_ which she would not share, and cautioned her not to do it again. The second time, you scolded her and sent her to bed early after a lengthy time in the corner reflecting on what was bothering her and why won’t she share it. Again, no result!” As he ranted, Mycroft was getting ready to leave his office, balancing his mobile while attempting to put on his coat. “You should have spanked her the first time and I told you to definitely spank her the last time! Perhaps she wouldn’t be taking after your wandering proclivities if you had put your foot down with her!”

At the other end of the conversation, Sherlock was cringing as he continued to search the area for Rose. “Mycroft, I--”

“No, I don’t want to hear it Sherlock! I’m leaving the office now, and when we find her, _I’m_ putting my foot down whether you like it or not!” Ending the call, Mycroft stepped out of his office and nearly ran into Benchley who had been about to enter once more.

“I’ve pushed all your meetings off until tomorrow, the Queen says she will call you later to reschedule tea, and I won’t bother you unless there is an imminent threat,” Benchley stated as she moved out of his way. “Is there anything else you need, sir?”

There were a great many things Mycroft Holmes needed: a guide to raising pre-teen girls, massive amounts of alcohol or a vacation. Neither of which were things that Benchley could provide, particularly when it came to dealing with Rose or Sherlock.  “No, that will be all.” With a curt nod, he departed his office and set off to find his sister.

\-------------------------------------------------

London traffic was a fickle and changeable beast. A times the traffic flowed smoothly, when pedestrians and drivers alike respected one another’s right of way. At other times, there were so many vehicles on the road that traffic crawled along and pedestrians were in fear for their lives. Or if they weren’t, they should have been. Going on a gut feeling, something which rarely- if ever- led him astray, Mycroft gave his driver directions and hoped that traffic would be cooperative.

\----------------------------------------------------

Thirty minutes after Mycroft hung up on him, Sherlock’s mobile alerted him to a text. Its content caused him to heave a sigh of relief.

‘Have located the baby. M’

‘Will be murdering her shortly. M’

Sherlock sighed heavily. Admittedly his attempts to coax Rose into discussing what was bothering her these last few weeks had failed, but he wasn’t certain an angry Mycroft would be any more successful.

 ‘Be gentle. Don’t shout at her. SH’

He waited, hoping for some reassurance that Mycroft would at least attempt to be patient or keep his temper somewhat in check. Sherlock was not surprised when Mycroft declined to respond and mentally wished Rose luck; she’d need it!

\--------------------------------------------------

The thirty minute drive- London traffic had _not_ been cooperative- did little to cool Mycroft’s anger. Finding her essentially safe and sound precisely where he thought she would be did not ease his anger either.  Leaving behind his car, he walked briskly through the grounds, his eyes on his precious target. His precious and very disobedient target!

Either Rise did not hear him coming, or hoped that if she didn’t acknowledge him he’d disappear, but she did not look up as Mycroft approached her.  She was sitting pretzel style on the ground, silent and still, staring at her mother’s headstone, completely unaware of the world around her… right until the point his hand wrapped around her arm and hauled Rose to her feet.

Gasping, Rose began struggling to get away until she turned her head and saw that it was not some random strange but her big brother. Her very _angry_ big brother! Immediately she stopped struggling and merely looked at Mycroft with wide eyes full of alarm.

“This,” Mycroft growled, gesturing at the cemetery. “Is not acceptable behavior Rosenwyn and you are in very serious trouble! I will not allow this behavior to continue.” He gave her a bit of a shake, somewhat surprised that Rose had yet to say a word. “You _do not_ run off whenever you feel like it. Sherlock is allowed to wander London because he is an adult; his privileges do not apply to you! We need to know where you are, for your own safety! Are you even listening to me?!”

Rose continued to stare at him with wide eyes, completely tongue tied, which only made Mycroft more upset. “Have you no explanation at all for your behavior? You could get lost, injured, _stolen_ for god sakes! We have safety rules for a reason! Well? Start explaining young lady!”

Her eyes immediately looked down at the ground as she took a deep breath. Then another, and another. The explanation was right on the tip of her tongue, yet somehow she couldn’t manage to speak, thanks to the lump in her throat.

Red-faced and out of patience, Mycroft gave her only a moment or two to start talking. “Alright, if you do not wish to explain, then we’ll move on to the consequences of your newly found habit of wandering London at will.”

Keeping a firm hold on her arm, Mycroft steered her towards the memorial bench at the end of Maud’s plot. In one smooth movement he sat and instantly began to tug Rose over his knee. Pushing her coat well out of the way of his target, Mycroft’s hand firmly swatted the small bottom propped over his right knee.

The eldest Holmes half expected an indignant shout, or perhaps even an order to stop, from his spirited little sister in response to the swat, particularly since they were in public. No responses were forthcoming and Mycroft’s hand fell several more times in quick succession before he heard even a peep out of Rose. Only it wasn’t a mere peep or protest. Instead, it was a little sob; faint, but a sob nonetheless. It was followed immediately by a much deeper sob that sounded guttural and hollow.

When he heard it, Mycroft’s hand immediately stopped mid-swing. Something about the sound of that sob was devastating and rather than continue spanking, he lifted Rose up and stood her in front of him. He knew what ‘crying Rose’ sounded like and this… this was _pain_. His chest ached at the sound of it and all thoughts of scolding or spanking were banished, replaced by the need to stop her from hurting. Without saying a word he wrapped his arms around Rose and lifted onto his lap where he cuddled her against his chest as tightly as he could.

“Whatever it is, we will fix it poppet. I promise that we can and will fix it, whatever is hurting you,” he murmured into her hair. “Shhhh, it’ll be alright.” By this point, Mycroft became vaguely aware of other visitors to the cemetery who were shooting anxious glances in their direction. Whether they were anxious because Rose was crying or because he’d shouted and spanked her, he wasn’t sure. Either way, Rose did not need an audience to her pain. Scooping her up in his arms, Mycroft stood and walked back in the direction of his car.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock was waiting in the sitting room for them to come home and found his anxiety heightened when Mycroft began carrying Rose towards the door. Opening it, he watched as Mycroft entered and breezed right past him, going up the stairs with Rose, who appeared to be sleeping. He followed almost immediately and was thankful when Mycroft waved him into the room.

“Help me get her into bed,” Mycroft whispered. He began carefully extracting the sleeping Rose’s arms from her winter coat while Sherlock took care of her shoes. Once it was ascertained that only her coat was wet from sitting on the ground, Rose was tucked up in bed still in her school uniform. Unwilling to leave her alone just yet, Mycroft sat on the bed and rubbed circles on Rose’s back through the duvet, hoping to help her settle into a good sleep. When it appeared she would rest peacefully, the brothers departed her room.

“She just started crying. This _awful_ cry, one I haven’t heard in… Well, months, frankly,” Mycroft admitted when Sherlock looked to him for details. It had been eerily reminiscent of the gut wrenching cries Rose had whenever she desperately missed their Mother in those first few months after Maud’s passing.

“Did she tell you what all this has been about? It can’t really be that simple,” Sherlock pointed out. “Rose can’t just keep doing this and who even knows if that’s where she’s been going the last two times.” It was rare indeed for Rose to keep anything from Sherlock and her refusals to tell him what was wrong and where she had been on the previous occasions worried him to no end.

“I’ll get to the bottom of this, in more ways than one,” Mycroft promised. When it looked as if Sherlock was about to object, the eldest Holmes held out his hand. “I have no intention of being harder on her than she deserves, but there has to be consequences for running off when she knows better than to do so. But I will attempt a softer approach and hopefully find a good balance between it and the sternness required to deal with serious misbehavior. Don’t worry Sherlock, you can cuddle her and tell her I’m terribly mean all you like afterwards.”

\------------------------------------------------

A few hours later, the sound of little feet descending the stairs alerted Mycroft that Rose was awake. Closing his laptop, he exited his study to find her at the bottom of the stairs. “You missed supper,” he told her. “Shall I warm something up for you?”

Rose nodded. “Will you sit with me? You could have tea,” she pointed out.

“I might be able to manage that,” he decided. Holding out a hand he squeezed Rose’s gently when she placed her small one in his larger one. Together they headed for the kitchen. “Set the table for yourself, please,” he instructed. It went without saying that Rose only set out silverware and glasses when she set the table, far too short to reach the plates on the top shelf of the cabinet. Mycroft grabbed one and retrieved the leftovers from the fridge.

“Tea cup or mug?” Rose asked. “And may I have coffee?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Mugs for us both and yes, I’ll make you coffee. Sometimes I’m not the least bit convinced you’re British, Rosenwyn. What’s wrong with a good cup of tea?” He smiled to himself when his teasing garnered a giggle from Rose.

Within a few moments, with their preferred drinks made and Rose’s supper warmed up and placed on the table, the two siblings fell silent for a few moments. Mycroft didn’t miss the way her eyes darted towards him every now and again as she attempted to determine if he was still angry with her.

“Am I in trouble?” Rose finally asked between bites of delicious pot roast.

Mycroft’s eyebrow quirked. “Yes,” he answered bluntly. “Though how much trouble remains to be seen. I do not understand, nor do I appreciate, this sudden proclivity of yours to just go wandering. Nor do I like the fact that something has clearly been bothering you and you have not chosen to share it with either Sherlock or myself.” Typically it was Sherlock she shared her secrets with and the fact that Rose wouldn’t tell even her beloved ‘fun’ brother was troubling to say the least.

“You are, on the whole, a good girl who is generally obedient and almost always kind,” Mycroft continued. “It isn’t like you to purposely and knowingly frighten your brothers, or blatantly break rules. Generally, it’s the fact that you don’t stop and think about things for five seconds first that leads you into trouble and inevitably across my knee.  But this is different, this is outright disobedience; _repeated_ and flagrant rule breaking and I want to know why, because this is not like you, Rose.”

Rose slumped in her seat, finding her pot roast suddenly incredibly interesting. It was really very unfortunate that her brothers knew her so well, because that made getting away with anything next to impossible. Though admittedly she hadn’t anticipated getting away with her wandering, particularly not today’s. Where did she even start her explanation?

Mycroft ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath. Shouting at her and demanding answers immediately would get him nowhere. “Let’s start slowly,” he suggested. “Did you visit Mother’s grave each time you’ve wandered off?”

She nodded slowly but offered nothing further, so Mycroft went on. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to visit Mother’s grave Rose. You are welcome to do so any time, you need only ask and one of us will take you. Why did you not ask?”

Lifting her eyes up from her supper, Rose looked at Mycroft, biting her lip for a second before responding. “Because it makes you sad and I didn’t want to make you sad,” she admitted. “And don’t say it doesn’t. I’ve seen it in Sherlock’s face when I mention her and your eyes get _so_ sad, My. I didn’t want to make you be sad just because I was.”

Mycroft sighed heavily. “It is not your job to shield Sherlock and I from sorrow, poppet. Rather, it is our job to take care of you. You’re not to take such great responsibility upon those little shoulders of yours. Yes, sometimes it is hard to think about Mother, or talk about her, because we all miss her so much. That does not mean, however, that Sherlock and I cannot or will not talk about her with you or take you to visit her grave when you wish to,” he said firmly. “But you must tell us. Tell us you want to go, or tell us you want to talk about Mother and we will do so. Now come here,” he ordered in a firm tone.

With a sigh, Rose got up from her chair and came around the side of the table to where Mycroft sat. Without a word, she began bending over his lap, knowing from the moment he found her that she was going to get a spanking for running off. It was rather odd he would choose to do so in the kitchen and not his study, but Rose didn’t want to add to her list of misbehavior by asking unnecessary questions.

Somewhat shocked by her response, Mycroft caught Rose by the shoulders and stood her back up. “We don’t give spankings in the kitchen in this house. It is unseemly.” Admittedly he could recall a number of times when Sherlock had in fact been swatted in the kitchen by their Mother, but he’d always considered it the height of bad decorum.

“There will be time enough for that later, I assure you,” Mycroft said truthfully. He guided her onto his lap, right side up, and wrapped his arms around her. He smiled as Rose nestled close and hugged her even tighter. “You looked as though you could use a good cuddle,” he whispered, as if sharing a secret.

Rose nodded, her curls jostling slightly with the movement. Almost immediately she began to play with one of the buttons of his waistcoat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered in return. “For scaring you and Sherlock and making you leave work to come find me. I won’t do it anymore.”

Mycroft rested his cheek on top of her head. “Good girl,” he praised softly. “Apology accepted. Make certain you apologize to Sherlock as well, when you and I are finished talking.” He held her tightly, smiling as she continued to play with his buttons. Rose had played with his buttons whenever she was nervous or in trouble since her tiny fingers had learned how to unbutton and re-button them.

“Do you have any idea how devastated Sherlock and I would be to lose you? I can’t even imagine how we would go on without you. In fact, I cannot remember what this house was like before you began filling it with giggling, dancing, mischief, and an overabundance of sentiment,” Mycroft admitted.

Rose looked up at him with a little smile, which grew wider when he kissed her forehead.

“Now, I have a very important question for you: who are the adults in this house?” Mycroft questioned.

Scrunching up her nose in confusion, Rose stared at him for a second. That was a silly question! “You, and sometimes Sherlock,” she said, flashing him a cheeky smile.

Mycroft chuckled and smiled. “Very true.” He quickly sobered, though. “So, if Sherlock and I are the adults, that means it is _our_ responsibility to take care of _you_ , not the other way round. You must let us do our job. In return, it is _your_ job to act responsibly and follow the rules isn’t it?”

“Yes. But sometimes that really isn’t much fun at all you know,” Rose informed him with a sigh. The sigh did little to hide the sparkle of mischief in her eyes though! “But I do try.”

“Hmm,” Mycroft murmured. “But I have a feeling these have not been spontaneous sojourns around London, walking nearly two miles to the cemetery without being seen. I’m willing to believe that you were trying to shield Sherlock and myself from sadness your previous visits, but what prompted today’s visit? When you were crying earlier, at the cemetery, that was not your ‘I’m being spanked’ cry. What made you so terribly upset?”

Immediately the sparkle in her eyes vanished as Rose ducked her head, beginning to play with one of his buttons again.

“Poppet? I really must insist that you tell me. I can’t make it better if I don’t know what is wrong and I’m concerned. Or at the very least, if you won’t tell me, you must tell Sherlock,” Mycroft suggested. He could feel the tension coming off her in waves and cuddled her as close as he possibly could, rubbing circles on her back to soothe her.

“They were out of Mummy’s soap at the store,” Rose said very softly. “I went and asked if they would be getting more and they said no, they aren’t carrying that brand anymore.”

Mycroft closed his eyes for several long seconds. Since the day Rose was born, their mother had used her favorite soap to wash her tiny infant, L’Occitane en Provence Lavender. Mother had been using that soap, and its accompanying lavender scented bath bubbles, for as long as Mycroft could remember. She had never used anything else and neither had Rose. Though he did not indulge in sentimental attachments to scents and products, he well understood Rose’s desire to continue using the same items now that Mother was gone. It was a link to Mother and Rose had proved to need as many of those as possible since her death.  How he wished more than anything he could make up for the gap in all their lives now that Maud Holmes was gone.

Rose began sniffling a bit. “And then I realized that there wouldn’t be a Christmas dress this year for my birthday, or any clothes for Samantha, and no Christmas dinner because none of us can cook like she did. It won’t be the same at all, none of it,” Rose whispered. “I don’t know if I even want a birthday or Christmas if we can’t have Mummy, because it will be the most awful thing ever! And we’d starve to death, too.”

“We wouldn’t starve to death,” Mycroft objected. “I can cook a little.”

“Pancakes are not Christmas dinners, My,” Rose whispered. She pressed her face to Mycroft’s chest, struggling not to burst into tears.

“We’ll make your birthday very special and have a lovely Christmas. I don’t know how just yet, but Sherlock and I will put our heads together. Trust us; it might be new and different, but Mother would not wish for you to stop celebrating your birthday or favorite holiday because of her,” Mycroft explained. “I promise we’ll make it very, very special.”

Inwardly, Mycroft wrestled with what to do with Rose. She had broken several rules, some of the most important rules, yet she had been so distressed. Could he truly go through with spanking her? Did he dare to _not_ spank her this time and risk a fourth incident? This was precisely the sort of thing he would have sought Mother’s advice about.

He held on to Rose for several moments more, quietly rubbing her back. “Try to finish your supper now,” Mycroft said, putting her back on her feet. “Then you can find Sherlock and apologize to him.”

\---------------------------------------------------

A short time later, Rose made her way upstairs to Sherlock’s experiment room and knocked firmly on the door.

“I need… three and a half minutes!” Sherlock called.

“Alright!” Rose put her waiting time to good use, running through one of her dance routines there in the long  hallway. When she finished working through her portion of the tango, clapping accompanied her finish, causing Rose to blush as she bowed.

“Beautiful Rosie, as always,” Sherlock said sincerely. “My experiment room is a bit of a mess right now. Can we talk out here?”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for running off on you again… and again,” Rose explained, her face growing red once more.

Sherlock waved her over to him, and when she was close enough, went down on one knee and hugged her tightly. “I was very, very scared when you ran off. Especially this time because I knew you were upset about something,” he murmured. “Please don’t do that anymore. You are far too precious to lose, Rosie. After all, who would annoy Mycroft with me?”

His question caused her to giggle, despite the seriousness of her apology. “I won’t do it again, I promise. I’m sorry I scared you Sherlock. Forgive me?” Rose looked at him with an eager, anxious little look on her face, as if he might possibly refuse to do so.

Sherlock kissed her cheeks and even dropped a kiss on her nose. “Anytime, for anything Rose. You will never be so naughty that you can’t be forgiven,” he assured her. “Especially when you make such a nice apology! Has Mycroft pronounced your sentence yet?”

Rose shook her head and wrapped her arms around him. “He doesn’t have to, I already know. Safety rules,” she lamented. Disobeying safety rules always meant a spanking in the Holmes household!

“Mmm. We do sort of take your safety seriously around her,” Sherlock agreed. “But only because we love you more than anything.” He kissed her cheek once more and stood up with her in his arms. “Shall we go beg for leniency? Throw ourselves upon the mercy of Mycroft?”

Rose giggled and kissed his cheek. “We can try, but it never works. After all, he _is_ the mean brother.”

Humming his agreement with that statement, Sherlock carried her downstairs, setting her down only when they reached Mycroft’s study door. He knocked loudly and waited until Mycroft called out until he opened the door.

“Dear King Mycroft! We have come to plead the case of one Rosenwyn Holmes, a very sorry little criminal who wishes to beg you for leniency! We throw ourselves upon the mercy of your court!” Sherlock told him dramatically. He looked at Rose and the two shared a little smirk before running across the room and literally throwing themselves on their knees at Mycroft’s feet. The scamps then held their hands up in supplication, offering their biggest and brightest smiles.

Sherlock nudged Rose with his arm. “Tell him how sorry you are,” he whispered.

“I am the sorriest girl in the entirety of the world and promise to always be very good and obedient henceforth, if leniency is granted by your good person,” Rose told Mycroft earnestly. It was a struggle to say the words without grinning or giggling at the silliness of it, especially when Sherlock let out a little snort of barely concealed laughter.

The eldest Holmes turned his chair towards them, crossed one leg over the other and cocked an eyebrow at them. He found that his scrutiny did nothing to discourage the overdramatic and giggly display before. If anything, it made it worse, as Rose ducked her head, unable to completely stifle her giggles.

“Please, please, good King Mycroft, have mercy on my little soul,” Rose added, completely failing to sound as beseeching as she intended to. “I have heard from far beyond of your great wisdom and merciful nature, King Mycroft!”

 Sherlock outright snorted at her improvisation and that was it. Rose completely lost it and began giggling crazily, doubled over as she sat there on her knees in front of Mycroft, abandoning all pretense of hiding her giggles.

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft let out a sigh. After how upset she had been earlier, he didn’t have the heart to call her and Sherlock out on being so ridiculous. “Arise, good citizens. Your King will duly take your pleas under consideration. The young criminal should return upstairs and get ready for bed while her king deliberates.”

The giggling stopped as both younger Holmes siblings looked at Mycroft almost in shock. Rose, the first to recover, hopped to her feet and hurriedly threw her arms around her big brother. After kissing his cheek, she darted from the room without saying a word.

“You two are incorrigible,” Mycroft grumbled when just Sherlock remained. “Get up off the floor already, brother mine!”

Unable to keep from grinning, Sherlock got up and helped himself to a chair near Mycroft’s desk. “Did you find out what was wrong? She looked so…” He struggled to come up with the proper word. “Desolate. She looked outright desolate when we left the store and she wouldn’t tell me anything. A million miles away from the giggly little pseudo-criminal who bounced upstairs a moment ago.” It filled him with indescribable relief to see Rose smile and laugh again, compared to her demeanor hours earlier.

“We have a problem, brother mine,” the eldest Holmes admitted. “Not least of which is the fact that the store closest to us will not be carrying Mother’s soaps and bath paraphernalia anymore, hence Rose’s upset at the store. I’ve already sent Benchley a text directing her to order ten cases from wherever she can get them, cost be damned.”

“So she went straight to Mother when we returned home,” Sherlock supplement. “I assumed that’s where she went the last few times, but she wouldn’t tell me. I’m glad to know it was just that. You told her we were willing to take her whenever she wishes to go, correct?”

Mycroft nodded. “I did indeed. Rose is uncertain, however, that we should celebrate her birthday or Christmas this year because without Mother we will starve and there will be no Christmas dress or things for her Samantha doll.”

Dismay clouded Sherlock’s face. “We can’t let either of those things go by without celebration. Not the baby’s birthday and very favorite holiday! Surely we can come up with something. We aren’t Mother and can’t be her, but we’re clever and can make new traditions.” It went without saying that he hoped this year would be more cheerful for Rose than the last, with Mother so ill and directing the show rather than lively participating as she had in the past.

“My thoughts precisely,” Mycroft agreed. “We’ll need to do some thinking and plotting to make sure they are the best days we can absolutely give her. At present I have no ideas, but if we put our heads together something will come to us. In fact, why don’t you start thinking on it? I had best go up and see to Rose.”

The brothers both went upstairs and then parted ways, Sherlock to his experiment room and Mycroft to Rose’s room. Knocking firmly, he then opened the door when given permission to enter. “All ready for bed I see. Teeth brushed as well?” Mycroft asked.

Rose nodded and put her book down on the nightstand.  “Did my King have time to deliberate?” Her little smile faltered when he didn’t immediately respond and she bit her lip before continuing. “Are... are we going to your study?”

Rather than answer directly, Mycroft sat on the bed and pulled her close. He let her nestle against him and held on even tighter, beginning to rock her slightly in his arms. “Your King has thought long and hard about what to do with the wayward princess Rosenwyn,” he murmured. “The princess is a good girl, who made a very poor decision and should, by the rules of this land, have her bottom soundly paddled with the spanking spoon.” Mycroft wasn’t the least bit surprised when Rose whimpered and pressed her face against his chest.

“However, the King is aware there are extenuating circumstances that made the princess Rosenwyn very distraught, which caused her to disregard the rules that are meant to keep her safe. In consideration the King…” _Good lord,_ Mycroft reflected, _what is my life coming to_?

“I, your King, will accept from you, princess Rosenwyn, a solemn vow that this naughty behavior will not be repeated. If you give this vow, your bottom will be spared a trip to the… to the…”

“Dungeons,” Rose supplied, peeking up at him. “You’re doing a good job My, promise. I’ll never tell a soul either.”

“You’d best not!” Mycroft exclaimed. Clearing his throat, he resumed his ridiculous role in this silly game, for which Sherlock was completely responsible. He narrowed his eyes at Rose when she giggled. “As I was saying. If the good princess Rosenwyn will give me such a vow, there shall be no trip to the dungeons this night. However, if the princess breaks her vow, god help her when the King gets his hands on her because the spanking spoon will be the least of her problems.”

“Princess Rosenwyn gives her most solemn vow to the good King Mycroft that she will listen to safety rules and woe-be-unto-me if I don’t,” Rose assured him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek.

“I really mean that you know,” she whispered. “Not just for play. I won’t do it again and I know that if I do break that rule, I’ll be in very big trouble.”

“You will indeed. It makes my life that much better when I know you are safe,” Mycroft admitted. “And don’t ever expect me to play along with such silliness again!” This declaration was said without any real vehemence at all, making Rose giggle rather than hastily agree, and he would certainly rather hear her laugh than cry.

“What are we reading this evening?” he asked, reaching for the book on her nightstand. “Ah, _Don Quixote_ , a work that is both long and excellent. Should we read a little bit before we turn out the lights? Did you know, Mother wanted to name you Dulcinea?”

Rose gasped, her eyes going wide. “ No! Really? That would be an utterly awful name!”

Mycroft laughed. “That was my sentiments on the matter as well. I was much happier when she chose something else, even if it is a rather silly name.”

“Silly like Mycroft,” Rose challenged as she burrowed under the covers. Scooting over more in the bed, she waited for Mycroft to sit beside her, immediately snuggling up to him when he did so.

“I suppose it is,” he murmured. “I can’t imagine you being called anything else though. What if you had been named Nancy? You wouldn’t fit in at all.”

“Ugh! That’d be even worse than Dulcinea! What did you want to name me?” Rose asked curiously.

“You know, I didn’t have anything in particular in mind. You weren’t mine to name, after all, though Mother did solicit opinions every now and again. Rosenwyn must have been chosen at hospital because I didn’t hear it prior to meeting you,” Mycroft admitted. He paused, thinking of what he might have named her had the choice been his.

“Something pretty and classic,” he finally decided. “But I don’t know if Victoria or Sophia or Georgiana would have worked as well. You’d be the odd one out again, so it’s a good thing I didn’t name you.” Mycroft smiled and kissed the top of her head. “On to _Quixote_ then?”

When Rose nodded, he opened the book and picked up where she had left off, regaling her with the adventures of the silly knight, his even sillier squire, as they travelled Spain attacking windmills and sheep alike. All the while, in the back of his mind, Mycroft began plotting some brand new traditions to join the old.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep setting out to write these short stories and then suddenly they grow into monsters! What will the Holmes brothers come up with to make their first holiday season without Mother special for Rose? What new traditions will be added to the old, and which old ones can the two men manage to keep? Guess and/or make suggestions in your comments!


	37. Once Upon a Birthday Part 2

With Rose tucked into bed the two Holmes brothers sat side by side in the sitting room with their respective laptops, both searching for suggestions of birthday surprises for their sister. Every few minutes, one turned his laptop towards the other, garnering a comment or look.

Sherlock looked at the other laptop screen and scrunched up his nose. “The Royal Observatory? Really? How dull,” he declared.

The eldest Holmes looked a bit flabbergasted. “How exactly is the universe _dull_ , brother mine?”

“It’s irrelevant, immaterial and outright rubbish. There are far better things to fill one’s mind with. Besides, who ever heard at a birthday party for a little girl there? Ridiculous,” Sherlock decided. He turned his laptop towards Mycroft, offering his suggestion instead.

A heavy sigh escaped Mycroft’s lips. “Overly dramatic and highly fabricated history that functions largely for ridiculous American tourists with no educational value whatsoever. No, that won’t do.” He shook his head, dismissing the very idea of the London Bridge Experience from consideration.

“So I take it The Dungeons is out as well,” Sherlock lamented. “There’s nothing wrong with some fun that is not educational, you know. Birthdays are about fun, about making her laugh and smile, not about entertaining _you_ or being something _you’d_ enjoy.  We can go somewhere boring and stupid for your birthday… if we absolutely have to,” he added, his tone heavy with mockery.

Nearly overcome by an urge to smack his brother upside the head, Mycroft retaliated with his patented narrowed eyes, drilling a hole into Sherlock with them as his lips thinned momentarily in irritation. _Siblings; such an annoyance!_ Well, in all fairness, Rose was largely a joy, unlike Sherlock. Or at least she was mostly a joy at any rate. God help them all as she grew closer to her teen years!

“Like that place.” The younger brother pointed at the website on Mycroft’s screen, advertising the _H.M.S. Belfast_. “That is a horrible idea, even for Rose who generally enjoys history. What could be a more boring birthday party than that?”

A dark eyebrow rose dramatically. “Are you going to attempt to be more helpful, Sherlock, or are you just intending to whinge and complain rather than contribute?”

Sherlock turned his laptop towards Mycroft, showing him the website for Disneyland Paris. He offered Mycroft a Cheshire cat-like grin, already imagining how out of place the eldest Holmes would look there… and how much fun Rose would have.

A horrified look crossed the eldest Holmes’s face, complete with bulging eyes and raised eyebrows. “No,” Mycroft said emphatically. “That is not happening. I’m not going anywhere near such a place and not even the baby can convince me otherwise!”

“She would love it and you know it,” Sherlock stated in a scolding tone. “It’s unfair to deprive her of a lovely experience just because you’re afraid.”

“I am not afraid! But neither am I willing to sacrifice my time to a place like that! Her birthday can be very special without all those sorts of bells and whistles. She can have fun and learn something at the same time.” Mycroft gave Sherlock a particularly censorious look, attempting to warn his brother away from making any other similar activity suggestions.

“You are no fun at all,” Sherlock complained. He slumped down a bit further into the couch, angling his laptop well away from Mycroft’s prying eyes and let out a huff of frustration. Just a few moments later, however, his eyes lit up and he turned the screen back towards the eldest Holmes, who happened to be turning his own screen in Sherlock’s direction.

The two brothers shared a rare, gleeful grin as they realized each had pulled up the website for the Royal Opera House. “It would appear we have come to a consensus,” Mycroft said happily. “And a very agreeable one at that! I cannot recall the last time I saw a good opera.”

“We’ll make it a whole night just for Rose. Fancy dress, eat dinner at the Opera House- a very expensive one too, her very first real adult dinner out- let her select a few things from the gift shop and give her the entirety of our attention for the duration of the evening,” Sherlock decided.

“I shall make the arrangements for transportation, the reservations in the Crush Room and procure the tickets. That leaves you the getting of a dress and perhaps purchasing some new shoes for Rose as well.” Mycroft smirked at the horrified look on Sherlock’s face.

“I don’t know how to buy dresses! I don’t even know what size she is! And Mother almost always had to have things bespoke or at the very least altered for her so poor Rose wasn’t stuck in silly little girl clothes now that she’s getting older. I don’t know how to do any of that,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Well neither do I,” Mycroft admitted. “But one of us ought to learn about it and it might as well be you. It’s not as though I have a great deal of time to take the baby shopping every time she needs something new. Ask Louise’s mother for assistance, or the costume designer at the dance studio. Worst case scenario, I’ll put Benchley on it but _not_ until you make a considerable effort, brother mine.”

It was wrong of him to take such satisfaction from the look of complete bewilderment on Sherlock’s face, but Mycroft really couldn’t help it. “Be the ‘fun’ brother,” he added, a further barb directed at his sibling. “Don’t forget, I’m the ‘mean’ one. Just living up to my reputation; you understand, don’t you?” Continuing to smirk, Mycroft got up from the couch and headed for his study, leaving Sherlock alone in the sitting room looking utterly out of his depth.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

A week before Rose’s birthday, Mycroft arrived home at just past seven in the evening. He was not in the best of moods, having been contacted by the bank regarding two rather large card charges Sherlock had made. What that could mean he wasn’t entirely sure. People did not use a check card to purchase drugs, but one could mostly certainly use one to procure the means to manufacture homemade cocktails with similar effects to the latest street drugs. Naturally that would require a considerable amount of scientific knowledge as not just anyone could purchase innocuous items and prepare their own home drug without acquiring the typical items that any thug off the street would use for their home meth lab.

Mycroft sincerely hoped that his suspicions in that area were unfounded. Sherlock was still being regularly drug tested, a condition of his moving back into the family home and having shared guardian responsibilities with Rose. Thus far he had been clean since his time in rehab; nearly eight full months. He was quite proud of his little brother for that, knowing Sherlock struggled still with his grief- as they all did- and a significant amount of boredom when not able to consult with the police or take on private cases.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to ‘fall off the wagon’ as the oh-so-pedestrian saying went. Sherlock may be a particularly brilliant 21 year old, a graduate chemist in fact, but he was not impervious to temptation. The holiday season would be difficult for them all and deep down, Mycroft would understand if Sherlock slipped. It would, however, mean an immediate return to rehab, Christmas or no Christmas. Their own troubles aside, he and Sherlock had a little girl to raise who counted on both her big brothers taking active roles in her life. Rose’s safety was paramount and Mycroft could not allow Sherlock to potentially repeat the disastrous night nine month ago when he had accidentally overdosed while home alone with Rose.

It was with a considerably heavy heart that Mycroft entered the security code and unlocked the front door of the Holmes townhouse. His immediate goal was to ascertain that Rose had eaten supper and finished her homework; confronting Sherlock would come after. As he hung up his coat and toed off his shoes near the door, the sound the voices from the sitting room drew him in that direction. The baritone rumble of Sherlock’s voice, and excited chattering from Rose, sounded perfectly normal and gave no indication of the situation Mycroft was about to walk in on as he stood in the entry of the sitting room.

Standing there in silent shock, his siblings blissfully unaware of his presence, Mycroft wondered just what sort of fresh hell he’d walked into. Felt, beads, empty paper towel rolls, tube socks, pillow stuffing, ribbons and fabric littered, no _covered_ the sitting room. Worst of all there was glitter everywhere that it should not be, making Mycroft inwardly groan, knowing it would take a considerable length of time to hoover that out of the carpets. Not to mention the dribbles of glue he was sure would exist if he looked for them. Then, to top it all off, the coffee table and its immediate vicinity were liberally covered in birdseed.

_Birdseed?_ Mycroft closed his eyes for several long seconds but today was assuredly not his day because when he opened them, the birdseed- both what had spilled and what remained in the bag- were still there.

What little patience he still possessed after a long and tiring day began to slip away. Mycroft opened his mouth to loudly demand an explanation but was quite suddenly stopped by what was surely the most delightful of sounds: Rose’s laughter. She was genuinely laughing, her face alight with happiness and mischief; the good kind of mischief, which was Mycroft’s preferred choice if mischief must be had. As annoyed as he was by the state of the sitting room, Mycroft couldn’t bring himself to start shouting and ruin Rose’s happiness. Not after the recent melancholy he’d seen in her!

Mycroft cleared his throat loudly and bit back a smile of amusement when two pairs of wide eyes turned in his direction. “Good evening, siblings mine. Might I enquire as to what is going on in our sitting room?”

“It’s Christmas!” Rose exclaimed, a grin spreading over her face.

“Is it now?” Mycroft responded, raising an eyebrow. “Funnily enough I thought it was 13 December today. And you say it is Christmas?”

The little girl nodded enthusiastically. “Well, not it’s not Christmas day today, of course, but we’re making Christmas. A new Christmas. Wanna help?”

Making Christmas? All Mycroft saw was that they were making a huge mess! “Go on,” he encouraged, hoping Rose would explain what this nonsense was about.

“All the ornaments are at the country house,” Rose pointed out quietly. “We don’t have any here, so Sherlock and I are making all our decorations for our new Christmas. New traditions and… things.”

Mycroft felt his heart twinge painfully as some of the sparkle left Rose’s eyes. “That sounds like a fine idea, but could we not have less messy traditions?” he asked, dismay evident in his voice. “That glitter is going to be miserable to get out of the carpet and I still have no idea what birdseed has to do with any of this.”

“The birds want Christmas too!” Rose told him excitedly. “We’re making them edible ornaments that we can put out in the yard. And they’ll be safe for most animals that come across them I think. We probably won’t get to see any deer here but you never know who or what might wander into our yard and it’s very nice to share Christmas.”

“The birds want Christmas too,” Mycroft repeated very slowly. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that statement, knowing only that it flabbergasted him. It quickly became clear that Rose wasn’t sure how he felt about it either.

“My?” Rose asked. A frown was beginning to settle on her face as she spoke. “Are you mad that we’re making Christmas?”

“Mad? Heavens no!” Mycroft shook his head. “A bit flabbergasted I suppose, but not upset. I never gave any thought to sharing Christmas with birds.”

The frown immediately faded, replaced by a pretty smile instead. “Oh! Well, me either, until Sherlock and I were looking up how to make ornaments on the internet and found the idea for that. Isn’t that brilliant? Just wait until you see the banister!”

Inwardly Mycroft groaned loudly. Exactly how far throughout the house was this mess spread? Yet despite the groan, he couldn’t help but smile just a bit as Rose took his hand and tried to pull him in the direction of the stairs. Allowing her to ‘pull’ him, Mycroft dutifully followed along, uncertain what to expect. Whatever he had expected though, was certainly not what he found.

The banister had been covered in cotton batting, Christmas lights liberally strewn along what he could only image served as ‘snow’. On top of this snow were a number of stuffed penguins wearing green scarves.

“Isn’t it neat? We got that idea online too and then we found the penguins at the store! Then I decided they should really be dressed to winter time, so we bought them little scarves too!” Rose was bouncing on her toes with excitement. “It’s almost like they’re sliding down the bannister or a snow bank.”

“You, my dear, are a particularly creative creature,” Mycroft decided, rewarding Rose with a smile. “Naturally you and Sherlock will be responsible for taking all this down after the New Year and of course cleaning up our sitting room, hmm?”

Rose nodded. “Yes! We’ll take care of everything. Want to help us My? We have _so_ much more Christmas to make.”

“I suppose, in a just a bit,” he agreed. “I need to speak to Sherlock first. Would you start some tea for all of us and locate some toffee biscuits for a late tea?” Mycroft did not miss the very brief look of alarm that crossed Sherlock’s face but waited until Rose bounced out of the room (the energy she had!) before moving into the sitting room again to speak with him.

“I received a call from the bank today,” Mycroft began. “You made some alarmingly big charges today and I was… concerned. However, I’m beginning to understand where that money went.” He waved his hand at the plethora of craft supplies.

Sherlock nodded, trying hard to avoid his big brother’s gaze. “Quite. That and another thing. Mycroft…” The younger man took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Will you ever trust me again? I pee in a cup every bloody day, I know you search my room regularly even though you’re always very careful to put things back where they should be. Louise’s mother has standing orders to take Rose home with her if I appear… unstable or erratic during Rose’s lessons. When will you trust me again? What more do I need to do?”

Now Sherlock looked at him and Mycroft could see the pain in his eyes, the yearning to regain the trust that had been broken. “Oh Sherlock,” he said, letting out a sad sigh. “I do trust you. If I didn’t, you would not be back in our home and you would not be allowed anywhere near Rose. You have done all that ask, continue to do all I ask, and have more than earned the right to be here, which is why you _are_ here. But you are only human Sherlock.” Mycroft reached out to squeeze his younger brother’s shoulder. “You are only human and this is a difficult time for all of us. I was concerned for you and I wanted to make certain you were well but clearly my concerns were unfounded and you have no idea how happy this makes me. Though why you need to spend nearly four hundred pounds on crafts is beyond me.”

Sherlock’s shoulders sagged in relief as he gave Mycroft a curt nod. “And I’m forgiven now?” The words came out hesitantly as if he wasn’t sure he really wanted to say them.

His brow now creased with concern, Mycroft nodded. “Of course, brother mine. Always. Forcing you into rehab was not a punishment, or least not meant to be one. I wanted you well and Rose needed you well. Have you truly felt you had not yet been forgiven this whole time? Months on end?” When Sherlock did not respond, Mycroft rolled his eyes, knowing it was true even if his brother would not admit it.

“Well you are and have been for quite some time. Though I may never forgive you for this mess in here,” Mycroft commented, attempting to turn the conversation in a lighter direction. “Glitter? Bird seed? You and Rose better get every teeny tiny bit of that hoovered out of the carpeting before it begins trailing through the entire house!”

Completely ignoring her oldest brother’s bit of a rant, Rose appeared at his side with an offering of tea fixed just the way he liked it. “Thank you,” Mycroft responded, accepting the cup. Just as he was bringing it to his lips for a drink he noticed something iridescent in the warm liquid and pulled the cup away so he could peer into it.

There was, without a doubt, a few stray bits of glitter in. His. Tea. There was also a little girl standing beside him, waiting for him to take a drink and declare that it was made just right. _God help me_ , Mycroft thought, bringing the cup towards his lips once more. “It is excellent, thank you Rose,” he commented, giving her a smile along with the praise.

It was then that he noted something shiny on Rose as well, aside from the glitter that was apparently clinging to her outfit and invading his tea! “I don’t remember seeing this before,” Mycroft commented, indicating what appeared to be a gold necklace around her neck.

“It’s new,” Rose responded, pulling it out from under her shirt. “I didn’t want to get glue on it so I was hiding it. Sherlock gave it to me today.” She held out the little heart shaped locket for his inspection, beaming proudly.

_This explains some of his expenditures_ , Mycroft reflected as he looked at the gold, heart shaped locket. On the front of it was a beautiful- almost calligraphy looking- engraved ‘R’ and turning it over was another exquisite engraving, this time of a rose. It was elegant yet understated, grown-up but not overly so, yet Mycroft couldn’t imagine what had prompted such an expensive gift. “Is there an academic achievement I’m unaware of? A competition you’ve won recently that I have not been told about?” he inquired as he let go of the locket.

Shaking her head Rose carefully opened the clasp of the locket to reveal a small photograph of Maud inside. “Sherlock said I can keep Mummy close to my heart this way. So she’s always with me,” she explained in a soft, reverent tone.

Mycroft looked over at Sherlock with an expression of surprise on his face. Somehow Sherlock was always so keenly connected with Rose on an emotional level that Mycroft couldn’t quite comprehend and this was a perfect example of it. He generally chalked it up to the fact that they were closer in age and he was much more of an authority figure than Sherlock and always had been. It was a lovely gift; subtle, yet thoughtful and emotionally charged.

“Do you like it? Is it okay? Did I make you sad?” Rose asked, tearing Mycroft’s thoughts away from Sherlock’s intuitiveness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad.” Hastily the locket was tucked back under her shirt and almost as quickly removed by Mycroft.

“You did not make me sad and it is more than alright,” Mycroft assured her in a gentle tone. “I was just surprised, but pleasantly so. I don’t know why we didn’t think of something like this earlier,” he admitted. “It is a very kind and thoughtful gift that will help you remember Mother in a happy way, I believe.”

The clouds that had gathered on Rose’s face quickly disappeared at his words and Mycroft was the recipient of a very enthusiastic hug. Setting his tea down on the nearest end table, Mycroft easily lifted Rose into his arms and held her tightly. “I love you poppet, and I only want you to be happy,” he said softly. “Remember what I said before? About not trying to shield Sherlock and me from sadness?” Mycroft smiled when he felt her head nodding against his shoulder. “That is not your job and you must not do it. Your job is to be Rose and nothing more.”

“I’ll be Rose and nothing more,” she murmured, smiling as Mycroft put her down. “Can we keep making Christmas now? Will you help us? Do you want to make snowmen out of socks? Or dip pinecones in paint and glitter?”

“Glittery pinecones?” Mycroft asked, an eyebrow quirking. “I was unaware that such a thing even existed, let alone was part of Christmas celebrations.” He shook his head as Rose bounded off towards the sitting and made to follow behind her, albeit more sedately, when he caught sight of the clump of glitter now stuck to his waistcoat.

“Rosenwyn Aramantha Holmes!” Mycroft called out. “Come here right now young lady!” He bit the inside of his cheek when Rose’s head whipped around and she gave him a wide-eyed look. “Did you hear me? I said come here.”

Biting her lip a bit Rose drug her feet as she approached her big brother, who now had his hands on his hips and a particularly stern look on his face. Only when she came closer did Rose spot the clump of glitter, her mouth forming a little ‘o’ in surprise.

“Look at what you did to my waistcoat, you destructive little monster,” Mycroft scolded. “You are in trouble. Come right here.” He pointed at a spot right in front of him, giving Rose a very stern look.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock called out. “Aren’t playing up your role as mean brother a bit much?”

“But My,” Rose whinged, moving to stand where he indicated. “I didn’t--” Whatever plea she had been about to make was promptly cut off as Mycroft began tickling her. A gasp of surprise was followed by peals of laughter as Rose wriggled and attempted to dance away from Mycroft’s tickles. “Nooooo! My! Nooooo!”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Mycroft countered. “Little girls who get glitter all over my waistcoat get soundly tickled. That is _very_ naughty behavior.” He smiled as she laughed and made half-hearted attempts to get away. His laughter soon joined hers when one escape attempt resulted in Rose tripping over her own feet and falling onto the floor. “Do you surrender?” Mycroft demanded. He tickled her feet now, making her squeal and kick enthusiastically at him.

“Yesssssss!” Rose gasped. “I surrender, I surrender!” She sagged against the floor in relief when Mycroft stopped his tickle assault and caught her breath once more. “That was devious My. I thought you were going to spank me,” she announced with a pout.

“Why? Have you done something that you should be spanked for?” Mycroft asked. He wasn’t at all surprised when she hurriedly shook her head no. “Are you sure? Quite sure? Should I spank you preemptively in anticipation of your next mischief fueled misadventure?”

Rose shook her head no, adding verbal pleas when Mycroft rolled her over onto her stomach and lightly swatted her bottom several times. “Yes, that ought to do it,” Mycroft declared as he lifted Rose up onto her feet again. “Do you feel sufficiently chastised? Might you perhaps think twice before misbehaving in the future?”

“Hmm. Nope!” Rose laughed as she hurried into the sitting room once more. “Mycroft, you’re the meanest brother ever!”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Well your meanest brother ever is going to change his clothes and then we’ll see about making Christmas.”

\--------------------------------------------------------

_20 December_

“But why?” Rose whined. She threw Mycroft a significant pout as she put on her school shoes. “Sherlock said I didn’t have to go to school on my birthday.”

Mycroft shot the middle Holmes child another deathly look. “Sherlock is an idiot and it doesn’t matter what he says if I say differently. It’s your last day before the holiday break begins and none of your birthday surprises are until this evening anyway. But there won’t be any surprises at all if a certain girl who is now eleven years of age doesn’t get her shoes and coat on.”

Rose gasped and looked up at him, attempting to assess the truthfulness of that statement.

“You know I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Mycroft added. “I would prefer not to be forced to do that though because I am very much looking forward to your surprises and starting a new birthday tradition. Wouldn’t it be better to go to school and have a lovely time this evening than to throw a strop now and not be able to celebrate?”

“Yes,” Rose admitted with a sigh. “But staying home all day in my pajamas still sounds like more fun than silly old school.”

“Undoubtedly it would be, but that is not your option today,” Mycroft said firmly. He rewarded Rose with a smile when she dutifully put on her coat. “Good girl,” he praised, bending down to kiss the top of her head. “Come along, we’ve just enough time to stop for cinnamon rolls at that place you like and eat them in the car.”

“And espresso?” Rose asked, making a beeline for the waiting vehicle.

Exiting the house at a more sedate place, the eldest Holmes shrugged his shoulders. “Why not? The caffeine will have worn off by the time you come home to plague me with your presence,” Mycroft agreed with a sigh. “You are absolutely spoilt and I claim no responsibility for that.”

Taking his teasing words as they were meant, Rose giggled and slid into the car.

\----------------------------------

Later that afternoon Rose burst through the front door of the Holmes townhouse, skidding to a stop just as Mycroft called out “Don’t run like a hooligan in the house!” from inside his study. Depositing her shoes, coat and school bag near the door, Rose ignored his directive and ran into his study without so much as knocking, earning an eye roll from her beleaguered eldest brother.

“I’m home, I’m home!” Rose announced, bouncing on her toes. “May have I my present now please? Please, please, please Mycroft? I’ve been waiting ages and ages and _ages_ and it’s utterly agonizing! In fact, if I am not allowed to have my present in the next…” Rose paused to look at the clock. “In the next six minutes I shall go into a completely melancholic state from which there shall be no return.”

“Your present is upstairs in your room,” Mycroft replied. “Bring it down here and open it, hm?” He shook his head as Rose ran out of his study and thundered up the stairs. “For such a small person she certainly makes a terrific amount of noise.”

A brief moment later, Rose could be heard running down the stairs once more and in short order appeared in Mycroft’s study. She immediately plopped onto the floor and began tearing away the wrapping paper, only to reveal a large white box. “Oh goodness! Just what I always wanted- a box!” Rose quipped. She flashed Sherlock a grin when he snorted but almost immediately returned her attention to her gift.

Once the lid was removed Rose carefully began to take the items from the box. Sitting right on top were three tickets for a performance at the Royal Opera House. “ _Don Quixote_ , showing 20th December,” she read. “That’s today! We’re going to see a show!”

“We are indeed, to see the final _Don Quixote_ performance for the season,” Mycroft confirmed. He could only smile at her enthusiasm, glad that he and Sherlock had gone this route after all and not selected any of the other options.

“Ooooh,” Rose murmured, pulling out a dress from the box. It was a beautiful sage green satin overlaid with white lace and tied at the waist with a burgundy sash. “It’s so pretty.”

Sherlock beamed at her obvious approval of his choice. He had searched long and hard for a dress that would be grown-up, yet not _too_ grown-up, and most importantly be flattering for her small stature. It was a tall order to fill but he had done it! “A grown-up girl needs a grown-up dress for an outing to the opera,” he told her. “Mycroft and I are taking you out on the town.”

Mycroft nodded. “We’ll explore Covent Garden a bit, perhaps help ourselves to some macarons from Ladureé or sweeties from Hope and Greenwood. Not too much though, because we’re going to the Crush Room for dinner before the show. Naturally we’ll stop in the gift shop where you may pick out a few additional things for yourself…”

His voice trailed off as Rose removed a new, fluffy fleece coat that sported a jaunty flower, and a pair of black sparkly shoes from the box. Sherlock was rewarded with a censorious look, silently accusing him of spoiling the baby. Maddeningly, Sherlock’s only response was a bit of a shrug. Rolling his eyes, Mycroft turned his attention back to Rose.

“We’ll be leaving in an hour, so you will want to change soon,” he cautioned. “In fact you’d best try everything on now and make certain it fits.” Mycroft let out an _oof_ as he suddenly found himself pounced on by an enthusiastic Rose. Wrapping his arms around her, he held on tight and dropped a kiss on top of her head. “I take it you approve of our proposed new tradition for your birthday? You’re getting to be quite grown up now,” he murmured. “A whole eleven years old.”

“I feel old rather suddenly,” Sherlock decided, giving Rose a playful frown. “That’s very rude of you to grow up and make me feel old.” He playfully wagged his finger at her, unable to keep from smiling when Rose began to giggle.

“Oh do shut up, brother mine,” Mycroft scolded. “You’ll only be twenty-two next month whereas I will be--”

“Really super old,” Rose interjected, flashing him a cheeky grin.  She yelped when Mycroft swatted her bottom lightly, more out of surprise than actual pain.

“Rude child,” Mycroft grumbled, though a smile tugged at his lips. “Thirty-three is not ‘really super old’ Rosenwyn.”

“But thirty-four is right?” she squealed and ran over to Sherlock when it looked as though Mycroft might swat her again.

Mycroft rolled his eyes at her dramatic show of hiding behind Sherlock, as if he were about to give chase. “Away with you, child. Go change so we can be on our way to Ladureé soon.” A fond look graced his face as he watched Rose scoop up her new dress and shoes and run out of his office and up the stairs.

“The baby isn’t much of a baby anymore,” Sherlock murmured, his tone reflecting the wonder of it all. Mother’s Baby was becoming a young lady; no _their_ baby, he mentally corrected himself.

“She’s only eleven, it’s not as though she’s eighteen or twenty. Besides, she’ll always be the baby,” Mycroft pointed out, a bit of a wistful smile on his face. “No matter how old she gets, that, brother mine, will never change.”

\--------------------------------------------------

“You look like a child raised in the forest with no manners at all,” Mycroft chuckled. He dipped a handkerchief in a bottle of water in the back of the vehicle and proceeded to wipe away the smudges of a well-enjoyed macaron from Rose’s face.

“You could use some attention, too,” Rose teased, giving him a cheeky smile. She had greatly enjoyed her pre-dinner activities, which included a brief stop at Hope and Greenwood to procure some small servings of their favorite sweeties (Rosey Apples for Rose, Treacle Dibs for Sherlock and Gray’s Teacakes for Mycroft) before visiting Ladureé. After much deliberation, one and only one macaron was allowed to be consumed before dinner, though a box of their favorites had been added to the small goodie stash in their vehicle.

“It’s my new favorite,” Rose decided. “Chocolate with lime, superb! May I try one of yours tomorrow Sherlock? And yours, too My? I’ll share mine.” Her brothers’ choices of spice and soft fruits and blackcurrant violet had looked very appealing too.

“I believe some sort of sharing agreement might be made. But not tonight, as we’ll have some dessert with our dinner as well,” Sherlock pointed out. “Mycroft will be horribly grumpy if you get an upset stomach.”

Mycroft nodded his agreement with that statement. “Alright, I think our faces are all clean now and we are ready for the Crush Room.” He stepped out of the vehicle and waited for his siblings to follow, offering his Rose to arm rather than reach for her hand. The grin at the gesture of acknowledging how grown up she was now made him give a smile in return.

“Well I can’t go in without a lady on my arm. Let’s share the baby,” Sherlock decided, offering his arm as well.

Giggling, Rose looped her arms through both of theirs. “Not a baby! I’m eleven!”

“You’re always the baby. You can’t change the order in which you were born Rosie,” Sherlock countered as the entered the Royal Opera House. “But that means you’ll also always be very, very special to us, because we’ve been able to watch you grow since the very day you were born.”

“My, do you remember when I was very tiny and I used to stand on your feet and we would dance in the sitting room?” Rose asked.

Mycroft nodded and responded with, “Hm, yes, that was just last week, was it not?”

“My!” Rose laughed. “That’s just mean! I meant when I was very, very little in terms of years, not size. Hardly my fault you and Sherlock are gangly giants. Sherlock, do you remember when--” Whatever special memory Rose had been about to discuss died on her tongue as they were led to the Crush Room. It was simply the most beautiful room she had ever seen in her life! Soft, velvety red chairs, gilt molding decorating various areas of the walls and large, shining chandeliers created what felt to Rose like the epitome of sophistication and elegance.

As she silently marveled at the room, Sherlock and Mycroft shared a smile. It had been so important to them to make this a very special birthday that would chase away the shadows of Mother’s absence and it appeared they had set just the right tone. For once, Mycroft was not even scolding about spoiling the baby as they were spoiling her together for an excellent reason.

Dinner passed pleasantly with Rose impressing both brothers with her good manners, clearly doing her best to act very grown-up and make them proud of her. “That was very delicious,” Rose told the waiter when he came with the check. “Thank you for being an excellent server and please give the cook our compliments, sir.”

Once again her brothers shared a brief smile before Mycroft handed over his bank card without even looking at the total. Rose, however, peeked at the receipt and gasped at the total. “Bills are not your purview Rose,” Mycroft commented. “They are mine and this has been money well spent. We’re starting a new tradition tonight and Sherlock and I wished to make this very, very special for you. Besides, we are celebrating you, poppet, and you are worth a great many fortunes.”

Her face flushed with pleasure as Rose hopped up to reward him with a hug. She sighed happily as Mycroft held her tightly, which was admittedly unusual in so public a venue. “I love you My. I’m glad I have you,” she whispered.

“I’m glad I have you,” Mycroft whispered in return. “Every single day. Now go give Sherlock a cuddle before he feels left out.” Giving her a wink he gently nudged her in Sherlock’s direction, not the least bit surprised when the middle Holmes held the littlest one tightly, kissing both her cheeks.

“If we’re done with all the silly sentiment now,” he said after a moment or so. “We have one final stop to make before we take our seats. There is a very important element of your birthday present in the gift shop.”

“There’s more?!” Rose gasped. “But--”

“But nothing,” Sherlock interrupted. “We want to thoroughly spoil you today and we will have our way, miss,” he said in a mock stern tone.

“Sherlock, why don’t you take her to our seats whilst I collect her gift?” Mycroft suggested. “Go on and I’ll be along shortly. If the employees give you any trouble, just wait for me and I’ll sort it out, but they should have been alerted to our impending visit.”

Sherlock nodded and held out his arm for Rose. “Shall we, birthday girl?”

Looping her arm through his once more, Rose nodded. “We shall!” The two siblings departed the Crush Room and headed for the private box. Only it was not just any private box, but the one reserved for the Queen herself!

“Holmes family, we have tickets for this box with special permission of Her Majesty,” Sherlock told a staff member, offering the man their tickets.

“Most irregular,” the man commented before tutting. “I’ll have to call down to the box office and verify. I’m sure you understand.” He hastily contacted the box office via walkie talkie and was informed that Mycroft Holmes and family had special permission to use the box for this performance, which came directly from Her Majesty’s secretary.

“Sorry about that. Have to be sure,” the man explained as he moved to allow them entrance. He cringed a bit as Rose dashed into the box and went straight to the front of it, peering at the stage.

“You can see everything from here,” Rose whispered reverently. “Everyone in the seats and the whole stage. We won’t miss even a bit of it and I’ll be able to see _everything_!” She had been a bit worried that her view would be obstructed by much taller patrons, which was valid concern considering her size. “Mycroft must have spent thousands of pounds to let us sit here.”

“Not even one, in fact,” Mycroft commented as he joined them in the box. “When I told the Queen Sherlock and I were taking you here to see _Don Quixote_ she insisted we make use of her box and consider it a birthday gift for you.”

Rose’s mouth dropped open in shock. She knew the Queen, not very well of course, but she had met her a few times, but Rose never imagined that the Queen thought of her very much! Then again, she knew Mycroft was very great friends with the Queen, so perhaps that had a lot to do with it as well. “Wow,” Rose finally said. “That’s amazing! If I make her a thank you card, will you make sure she gets it My? Because this is very, very special and I would like to say thank you.”

Mycroft smiled and nodded, feeling very proud of her thoughtfulness. Though in actuality, it wasn’t wholly unexpected as Rose was typically quite thoughtful. “I would be happy to deliver a card for you. That is a very thoughtful idea, Rose. I’m sure she would appreciate it.”

“Come here,” Mycroft requested, waving Rose over to him. “We have just enough time for you to open your gift before _Don Quixote_ begins.” He waited until she sat down to hand it to her and then took the seat on her left while Sherlock sat on her right.

The wrapping paper was torn away haphazardly, revealing a beautiful gift box embossed with the Royal Opera House’s insignia on top. Rather than open it quickly, Rose was careful as she lifted the lid, not wanting to damage what might be inside. Finally it was removed and handed to Sherlock as Rose pulled out each item in turn.

“That’s for your programmes,” Sherlock explained when the first item emerged. “You can keep each one in this box and fill it up every year. If you have a nice time, Mycroft and I want to make this our new tradition.”

“Though we might not be quite so extravagant in the future,” Mycroft warned. “But Ladureé and the Opera House’s latest offering will be a must. I take it that would be fine with you?”

“More than fine!” Rose assured him. “This has been the best time, and _Don Quixote_ hasn’t even started yet.” She flashed Mycroft a smile before removing a DVD called _The History of Dance on Screen_ , letting out a little squeal as she saw it. “I’m going to watch this as soon as we get home,” Rose decided.

Reaching into the box she retrieved her final gift, an official Royal Opera House bear, dressed in dinner jacket with a white bow tie. “My birthday bear!” The bear was quickly removed from the gift bag it was inside of and eagerly inspected by the birthday girl. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to get a birthday bear this year, because we did so many other things.”

“Forget your birthday bear? Never!” Mycroft vowed. “I would never do such a thing. That is a very important tradition, isn’t it?” He wasn’t the least bit surprised when Rose helped herself to his lap and hugged him tightly, bear in hand. “Happy birthday poppet,” he whispered.

After a moment he gently nudged her from his lap. “Best take your seat now, things are about to begin and you don’t want to miss anything.” He smiled and shook his head as Rose scooted her chair closer to the front of the box.

“I don’t want to miss anything,” Rose said as she looked over her shoulder. Her attention was quickly drawn by the stage as the lights began to dim and the curtain started to rise.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that night, Mycroft knocked lightly on Rose’s bedroom door, opening it when she called out for him to do so. “Ready for bed? Did you say goodnight to Sherlock already?” he asked.

Rose nodded, giving him a sleepy smile, fighting to keep her eyes open. “Yes and yes. Don Quixote, is too,” she said, indicating her new teddy bear with a giggle. “Do you like his name? It seems like the right name for him.”

“That’s a very fine name for a bear,” Mycroft responded as the tucked the covers in around her. “I’m very glad you enjoyed the evening Rose. Sherlock and I hoped that you would. Perhaps you’d like to pick what we see next year?”

 “Mmhm,” Rose agreed in a tired tone. “Thanks for everything My. It was my favorite birthday ever.”

That was quite the accomplishment, Mycroft thought to himself, particularly since he had anticipated this being a difficult day for her. “Good, I’m glad. But right now, it’s time for you to sleep.” Leaning down, Mycroft pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight poppet.”

“Night My,” Rose murmured as she burrowed under the covers a bit more.

Mycroft waited until she had settled down and then tucked the blankets around her one more time before leaving the room. After closing her door, he leaned against it and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. They had done it. They made it through the day, all three of them, with smiles and laughter even though Mother was missing. It was quite the accomplishment and gave him hope that they just might survive Christmas as well.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

_25 December- Nearly Midnight_

The credits of _A Little Princess_ began rolling, signaling the end of their holiday movie marathon. It was five minutes before midnight which would officially change the date to 26 December. Mycroft swirled the brandy in his snifter and took a drink before looking over at his siblings. Sherlock and Rose were snuggled together under a blanket, the collar of Rose’s new Christmas pajamas peeking out from under it. He had given them to her the night before and allowed her to wear them all day, much to Rose’s delight.

Right about now would be the time that he and Maud shooed the younger Holmes children off to bed, or at least attempted to make Sherlock go sleep for once. Instead, it was just he awake, looking around the room at a very different Christmas. The blue and teal glitter pinecones had shed their sparkles all around the tree, while the homemade ornaments gave it a homey feeling very unlike the pretty and delicate ornaments of Christmases past.

It had been a good Christmas; different, but good. Unless one counted the fact that the turkey had somehow caught on fire and the fire extinguisher effectively ruining whatever food was anywhere near the stove. At that point, the day was a disaster and Mycroft had felt an overwhelming sense of failure. Sherlock, however, had saved the day by locating the only catering company open on Christmas Day and paying them an exorbitant amount of money to cater a Christmas dinner.

They’d need to practice more before next year, Mycroft thought, and avoid this year’s food disasters. Either that or beg their cook, Terre’, to stay with them for Christmas! The trifle pudding, at least, at turned out perfectly and not been safe from contamination and it had served as their lunch until the catered food had arrived for a somewhat belated Christmas dinner.

Success had been achieved on one level though. Despite Maud’s noticeable absence, there had been laughter (some of which had been directed at his apparent lack of cooking skills), presents, holiday films, board games and ultimately joy. All that Mycroft had wanted for Christmas was for the three of them to survive it together and enjoy it at least in part as they adjusted to new roles and traditions. On that level, there had been great success and seeing Rose laugh, smile, and enjoy every minute of her Christmas had made it easier for him to continue the merriment rather focus on Mother’s absence. It was encouraging that they’d made it through with a few bumps in the road and Mycroft knew that with time what were new traditions would become old and life would continue on with all the joy and laughter Maud would wish for.

Drinking the last of his brandy, Mycroft set the snifter on the end table before getting up to tuck the blanket tightly around his siblings. After kissing Rose’s cheek and patting Sherlock’s shoulder, he turned out the lights and headed upstairs for some well-earned sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe it’s been SO long since I wrote the first part of this and that it’s taken me the better part of three weeks to finish this final part! I’m so sorry for the long wait and I really appreciate those of you who continue to read despite the huge lag time between chapters recently!
> 
> Note 2: Someone suggested a while back I set up a tumblr account about me or the stories and for the life of me I can’t figure it out, or think of anything to say even if I could! So instead, I’ve set up a pinterest account with boards that correspond to each of the Rose stories featuring images of her outfits, of little Rose herself, and more! Just go to pinterest and add a slash mark followed by cb1603 to see the boards. The Petal board is completely up to date with the most recent chapter, the others I will work on when I have time, though the images for this chapter are available now on the Wildflower board. Enjoy!!


	38. Before the Wildflower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This little idea, which is really more of a ficlet or drabble than a chapter, came to mind and my fingers flew. It's not Rose focused, it's pre-Rose in fact, as the title suggests, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Mycroft was the most interesting person Sherlock had ever known. Granted, he was three so he didn’t know all _that_ many people, particularly on the level that Sherlock knew Mycroft. But the little boy was certain just the same that Mycroft was the most interesting person. For one thing, Mycroft had his own bedroom and it did not look like Sherlock’s. Instead, it was neat and orderly with everything in its place. Sherlock’s own bedroom looked as though a hurricane had passed through, with stuffed animals, a trainset, several drawing and various coloring implements on the floor, and a whole host of other times out of place.

But Mycroft’s bedroom was different. Everything about Mycroft was different. He was big and tall and did very smart things in school. He made Mummy smile and Daddy nod with approval far more often than Sherlock did. Granted, Sherlock was well loved and he knew that, but he was more prone to causing mischief and chaos than Mycroft seemed to be. Mycroft seemed just about perfect sometimes.

It was little wonder then that Sherlock was always very curious about what his big brother was up to. The last several days, Mycroft had been working on a project for school in his room and had not let Sherlock in to see it.

“You’ll just get too silly and ruin it Sherlock,” Mycroft had said, firmly shutting his bedroom door.

 That wasn’t wholly unusual, as Mycroft considered his bedroom his sanctuary and Sherlock was rarely allowed inside it, at least with permission. When he snuck in without permission, Mycroft generally scolded and sent him on his way out of the room with a smack to his bottom. Sherlock, of course, responded with an exaggerated pout and mostly put-upon tears.

None of this was a deterrent though when Sherlock really wanted to get into Mycroft’s room. When he did, he simply waited until Mycroft wasn’t home and went in anyway. If he was careful, Mycroft never even knew! Though Sherlock was rarely that careful, he was getting better at it and the overly intelligent three year old was certain the day would come that he could go in Mycroft’s room, do as he wished, and never be caught.

Today was a day in which Sherlock hoped that would be the case. Mycroft was off at school, meaning his super-secret project in his room was not being guarded and therefore free to be looked at! At his earliest opportunity (silly Mummy, thinking he would nap just because she _told_ him to), Sherlock tip-toed into his brother’s room and looked in amazement at Mycroft’s project. It was a very grand project, a very precise model to scale of the Tower Bridge. Sherlock recognized what it was and was quite impressed by it, carefully turning it to survey each side. It was beautiful and wonderful and _perfect_ and Sherlock was properly in awe of his brother.

But not, however, in enough awe to keep from touching the bridge. Or from scurrying to his room to collect some matchbox cars to drive across the bridge. Much to Sherlock’s delight, the cars fit perfectly on the bridge and he spent an hour or so playing traffic warden and running the cars over and around the bridge. Then, just to make it interesting, he tried to create a traffic pile-up, in the most literal sense, right in the center of the bridge. Just as he was piling the twelfth car on the bridge, it collapsed and the cars went crashing to the desk below. A gaping hole was left in the bridge and Sherlock could only stare at it in horror. That… was a bit not good.

Or rather, it was _very_ not good. In fact it was bad, awful, and downright terrible! Just as his mind reeled with how to fix this so Mycroft wouldn’t know anything had happened, Sherlock’s ears caught the sound of the front door opening and his brother announcing his arrival home from school. The little boy’s flight or fight response kicked in and Sherlock flew. Certain Mycroft would be absolutely furious and never forgive him or play with him again, Sherlock scurried to the attic where he hid himself away, hoping to never be found. As much as Sherlock aggravated his big brother, he never meant to harm Mycroft’s things (usually) and did not like it when his brother was angry with him.

Just as he slid in between some old pieces of furniture and crouched down into a tiny ball, an angry shout of “SHERLOCK!” was heard from downstairs. Upset and frightened, Sherlock closed his eyes and wished he were anywhere else.

His family, however, wished he could be found! As soon as Mycroft had shouted Sherlock’s name, Maud had hurried upstairs to investigate and a search for the loveable little miscreant got underway. Only Sherlock wasn’t to be found in any of his usual hiding places. Mother, brother, and father when he arrived home, grew increasingly alarmed at the fact that Sherlock had disappeared, fearing perhaps that he had run away. The police were soon called and began searching the neighborhood, along with Sherlock’s parents. It wasn’t as if the little boy _hadn’t_ wandered before, it was likely he had wandered off yet again. Mycroft stayed home, in case Sherlock returned.

Several hours passed with the family growing more and more frightened, including Sherlock. The sun was beginning to set and the attic was thrown in shadows. Old clothes, trunks, and various items that looked perfectly normal during the day suddenly became very scary looking as darkness closed in. And soon it was very dark indeed. Sherlock could hardly see in front of his face as only one street lamp peered in through an old dirty window, casting a wee bit of light into the room. It was not enough light to make all the shapes look less scary, nor enough for Sherlock to find his way out. Unable to bear being alone and scared in the dark, Sherlock began to cry. His tears soon turned to pitiful wails of fright as he cried out for Mummy and Mycroft and Daddy.

Despite being hidden away in the attic, his tears and calls for help reached the ears of his big brother and Mycroft quickly followed the sound upstairs. He followed it all the way to the attic and entered the dark room, groping for a moment to find the string to turn on the single lightbulb in the center of the room. There was no doubt Sherlock was here, the only question was where! Once he had some light, it didn’t take long for Mycroft to find his scared little brother. The anger that had welled up inside him hours earlier when he’d seen his maths project damaged, disappeared in an instant in the face of Sherlock’s genuine distress. The little boy was sobbing and shaking and practically threw himself at Mycroft.

“Alright, alright, I’ve got you,” Mycroft said, picking up the little boy up. Immediately he cuddled Sherlock close, trying to stem his tears. “We’ve been looking for you *everywhere* Sherlock! Mummy and Daddy are out in the car and the neighbors are all walking and looking. Mummy even called the police! Have you been here this whole time?” Somehow Mycroft wasn’t surprised when Sherlock nodded and cried out, “I’m sorry Mikey, don’t hate me! Didn’t mean it!”

The fourteen-year-old, wise beyond his years, could only sigh. “I could never hate you Sherlock. Don’t be daft,” he scolded as he carried the boy towards the attic door. Though he scolded, his tone was quiet and firm with no trace of anger at the silly little boy who couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Come on, we’re going to go call Mummy so she can go home and send the police to do actual policing.”

The drama of the missing three-year-old was wrapped up in short order. The police went back to the tasks they’d been at before, thankful the boy had been found unharmed. The neighbors went home and rolled their eyes, thinking ‘Only Sherlock Holmes!’ Sherlock himself got a smacked bum (six whole spanks over his clothed bum) and had an extended time out (fifteen minutes) during which he wailed as though he were dying. Finally he was released, only to be put straight to bed, as it was already his bedtime and even a little bit past.

Sherlock, in typical fashion, did not stay in bed though. Holding his beloved stuffed bumblebee, aptly named Mr. Bumble, the little boy crept across the hall to Mycroft’s room and let himself in.

The eldest Holmes child did _not_ suppress an eye roll as he looked over to find Sherlock standing in the doorway. “Better come in then, before Mummy sees,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “What do you need Sherlock?” He was busy trying to repair his project and didn’t really have the time to spare to play with an un-sleepy Sherlock.

Shyly, the little boy crossed the room and hugged his brother tight with one arm, since the other held Mr. Bumble. “Sorry Mikey,” he murmured, eyes downcast.

Mycroft sighed and ruffled Sherlock’s curls. “I know Sherlock, I know. You never mean any harm, even though that tends to be the outcome. I’ve got to put this back together right now, so I can’t sneakily read you any stories just now.”

“Can I help?” Sherlock asked, looking up at Mycroft this time. He looked so eager that it was almost impossible for Mycroft to say no.

“Alright, I suppose so. But you have to do *exactly* as I say and Mr. Bumble has to stay on the bed. He might get in the way, being a rather large bumblebee and all,” Mycroft pointed out. A smile tugged at his lips as Sherlock ran to deposit Mr. Bumble on the bed and then bounded back to help.

\--------------------------------------------------

Three hours later, Maud headed upstairs to tell Mycroft it was time for bed and give him a kiss. He didn’t always like being tucked in anymore, so Maud didn’t force it on him. Kisses, though, were not optional! She knocked lightly on Mycroft’s door before letting herself in, surprised not to hear him call to her in response to the knock. Once the door was opened, it became clear why he hadn’t--- Mycroft and Sherlock were cuddled up in bed fast asleep, with a storybook still open in Mycroft’s lap. Sighing softly, Maud carefully removed the book and tucked the covers a little tighter around her boys. Last but not least, she pressed a kiss to each of their heads before leaving them to sleep


	39. Growing Pains

“Sir, I’ve been thinking,” Benchley began as she brought Mycroft a cup of tea that Friday morning.

“Dangerous habit that,” Mycroft replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “What have you been pondering Benchley?”

The capable PA sat down in one of the chairs placed in front of Mycroft’s desk. “Well, Rose is growing older now…”

Mycroft chuckled and nodded. “I know she is! Whether I want her to or not. I find it difficult to believe that she will be twelve in just a few months and it rather terrifies me. Rose is inching ever closer to those teen years and god help us if she takes up the sort of rebellion Sherlock did. Or god help me rather,” he amended. It didn’t strike him as odd that Benchley would ask about, or discuss, Rose. In the months since Maud had passed away, there had been times Mycroft had counted on Benchley for things that he was either not equipped for, like clothes shopping, or simply too busy for. Sherlock could be relied on, of course, but only to a certain extent.

Benchley nodded and flashed him a smile. “Precisely! She may, now and again, have some… uncomfortable questions,” she continued, choosing her words very carefully. “Or experience changes that she might find alarming and I wanted to see if---”

At that precise moment the German chancellor’s number flashed on Mycroft’s desk phone. “I’m certain whatever your idea is that it is an excellent one,” Mycroft told his PA with confidence. “So I’ll leave it in your capable hands to take care of, with my great appreciation.”

Nodding, Benchley rose from the chair and returned to her own desk as Mycroft answered his phone. In a way she was incredibly relieved that they had been interrupted. The conversation might have taken a very unfortunate turn and ended up embarrassing them both. It was simply easier to take the initiative herself and, since Mycroft had given his blessing, and Bethany Benchley would do just that!

\-----------------------------------------------------------

That night was an ordinary Friday night at the Holmes household. Mycroft was heating up the supper left by the cook/housekeeper while he awaited the arrival of his siblings, basking in the blissful silence. After a long day at Whitehall there was nothing that Mycroft appreciated more than silence in his own home. It wouldn’t last, as it was neigh on 7 and his siblings were due back at any moment. He hoped that Sherlock had remembered to collect Rose from the dance studio. Once or twice he’d got so wrapped up in cases he’d missed collecting her and Rose had taken it upon herself to take the tube home. That might be fine for other people’s children, or siblings, but not Mycroft’s. Not with what he did for a living. The dangers of the world were well known to him and he much preferred to shield Rose from as many of them as was possible.  

All at once the silence broke as his siblings arrived, sounding like a herd of elephants. Laughter and the jingle of keys was accompanied by heavy pushing on the front door before it burst open, the knob hitting the wall as it did so. Stepping out of the kitchen enough to see them, Mycroft raised his eyebrows as Rose and Sherlock stumbled through the door. “Don’t damage the house please! And are you trying to raise the dead with all that noise?” He rolled his eyes and went back into the kitchen when the pair merely laughed and ignored him.

Moments later, Rose bounded into the kitchen. She dumped her book bag near the table on her way to the fridge, plucking a juice box from its depths. Only when she’d opened it and drunk some of its contents did she turn her attention to her big brother. “Are you cooking?” she asked, eyeing the pots on the stove with suspicion. “I’m not sure if I want to eat supper if you’re cooking it. I might get poisoned,” Rose said, her face quite serious.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and gently elbowed Rose away from the stove. “I may not necessarily be renowned for my cooking skills, but I would like to think I can manage stew and corn bread!”

“Yes, well preferring to think that you are capable of that does not, by rule of law, translate to actual capability,” Sherlock commented as he swept into the kitchen. He grabbed the coffee pot and raised it, giving Rose a look.

“Please! Two cups,” Rose responded at once. “And Sherlock is right you know. Thinking and actually doing are two very, very different things. It wasn’t very long ago you completely burnt Christmas dinner. We’re lucky the house didn’t go down in flames!” A cheeky smile tugged at her lips and Rose just barely missed Mycroft’s palm as he reached out to lightly swat her bottom.

“You’re both impertinent brats,” Mycroft decided. “In any case, it is not poisoned and it is not even my cooking ability, or lack thereof, at stake. I’m merely warming up the stew Cook made and put her cornbread in the oven.”

“Well…” Sherlock mused, narrowing his eyes as he feigned deep thought. “I still think that leaves considerable opportunities for you to poison and/or utterly ruin supper. I suppose we’ll have to take our chances Rose. But there’s a silver lining- if we’re poisoned, we’ll just haunt Mycroft for the rest of his life.”

“I fail to see how that would be any different than life with you among the living,” Mycroft quipped. “You’d simply be a less corporeal form.”

By this time Rose was giggling madly at the banter between her brothers. This right here was what held the family together and she wouldn’t change her brothers for the world. “You’re almost like an American sit-com, you know that? Only thing missing is the laugh track,” Rose pointed out. “I think I’ll take my chances with dinner, simply because it smells delicious and I’m very hungry!”

“Set the table then. Sherlock get the plates down for her, please.” As much as they tried to make things in the cupboards accessible to Rose, short of moving them down several inches, the middle and top shelves were generally too high for her to reach. “How was school today? I won’t even ask how dance was; your smiling face says it all.” Rose was never happier than when she was dancing.

Rose gave her eldest brother a bit of side-eye. “It was… fine. You know, its school.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I went, I did work, I left and went to dance.”

School was a contentious issue of late. Rose was bored far more often than she liked to be and even with her accelerated learning courses, she often didn’t have enough to hold her attention for the day. A bored Rose was prone to getting into trouble, either from being to cheeky or creating mischief. Even a well entertained Rose could attract mischief the way Sherlock had at her age!

“It was fine,” Mycroft repeated slowly. He arched an eyebrow at Rose as he carried the pan of cornbread to the table. “Fine in what way? Fine as in you made it through the day but may have been bored more often than not? Fine as in there’s a note I need to read and sign? Or fine as in I should expect a call from the headmaster?”

The little girl huffed, and threw Mycroft and very Sherlock-like pout. “Maybe there’s a note,” she murmured. Rose flopped into her chair and turned her attention to the warm meal in front of her. It was really the perfect dinner for a chilly autumn evening and the scent of it was inexplicably a scent of home. One of Mummy’s recipes that made one feel warm and cozy, just as Mummy had when she was still with them.

It had been twenty months since Maud had died; nearly two whole years. At times though, it didn’t seem like it could possibly have been so long ago. Each of the Holmes children still struggled with their grief, albeit in their own way. Rose clung to the things that reminded her of Mummy: the brand of soap and bubble bath she used; favorite meals that she used to make; and on occasion could be found in Maud’s bed. Sometimes Rose swore she could smell Mummy’s perfume still on the sheets and pillowcases and it soothed her.

Sherlock largely ignored the lingering grief by expanding his consulting detective work, while making certain Rose made it to dance and all her competitions. Mycroft… Well, no one was really sure how Mycroft was dealing with it. Perhaps not even Mycroft himself.

As Rose tucked into her meal, clearly not inclined to discuss the note that was indeed tucked into her book bag, Mycroft let out a heavy sigh. Leaving his own meal untouched, for the moment at least, Mycroft took it upon himself to retrieve the note. Breaking the seal, he returned to the table and sat down in his place at the head of it and began to read the note’s contents. Mycroft was uncertain what to expect as this _was_ Rose and it could, quite conceivably, be any number of offenses. Rose was a good girl with a good heart; that Mycroft did not doubt. Yet she, like any other child, could misbehave at school or disregard schoolwork that did not appropriately challenge her.

“You wrote an entire book report in Greek?” Mycroft asked, raising both eyebrows at Rose. “And you somehow thought it wouldn’t be problematic in any way?”

Rose raised her chin defiantly. “I did and I knew it would be problematic, as you say. It was done in protest. I was making a point.”

Sensing drama on the horizon, Mycroft put the letter aside. “We’ll discuss this after supper,” he decided, giving Rose a firm look. It came as no surprise to him that supper turned out to be a rather quiet affair as all three siblings focused far more on eating rather than talking. Sherlock might have been considered the only exception to this as he abruptly rose from his chair and took his mobile into another room, presumably regarding a current or potential client.

The two remaining siblings, youngest and eldest, sat there quietly together after Sherlock left. Neither said anything for several moments until their spoons were scraping the bottom of their dishes. Finally Mycroft rose from the table and took his plate to the sink. “I think I could use some coffee. You will, no doubt, want a cup?” He looked over at Rose, unsurprised to see her nod.

“Dinner is done now,” he continued on as he located the coffee grounds. “I think we should talk about your note. I’d prefer if we skip the drama and defiant attitude you had earlier. None of that will do you any favors.” The unspoken part of that sentence, ‘when we go to the study for your spanking’, hung in the air as silence fell once more.

“I asked Mrs. Hadley for a different book,” Rose finally spoke up. “I asked very nicely and she said no. I tried to tell her why and she told me if I was going to take her class I was going to do the book assigned. If I didn’t, I would fail the assignment. I tried to explain myself and she said I’m not special.”

“You’re not special,” Mycroft repeated slowly. Given that Rose was a sensitive child, perhaps the instructor had not meant those words the way they’d been taken. At least Mycroft hoped that was the case! The school was one of the most prestigious in London and had done very well accommodating Rose’s accelerated learning thus far. “What do you think Mrs. Hadley meant by those words?”

“That I don’t get special accommodations because I’m not different than anyone else in class,” Rose answered at once. She gave Mycroft a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes when he rejoined her at the table, bringing the coffee with him. “But I am different.” Rose reached for the coffee cup and wrapped her hands around it, letting it warm her hands.

“The school has made many special accommodations for you Rose,” Mycroft reminded her. “We cannot continually ask for things when you are able to make do with the work you are given. You already receive extra courses than your classmates and have been accelerated in other courses to where you are on par with students older than yourself. Is that the argument you were trying to tell Mrs. Hadley? That you were too intelligent for this book…” Mycroft paused to try and find a title on the note but one had not been provided. “Whatever it was?”

The little girl shook her head, making her curly hair sway as she did so. “I know I can’t always switch books because I don’t like one or find it droll,” Rose assured him. “But Mrs. Hadley was wrong.” Tears began to burn her eyes and she worked hard to blink them away. She didn’t want to be a baby, but Mrs. Hadley should have understood. “I read the summary on the back of the book and…” She took a deep, shuddering breath to try and steady herself. “And it’s all about a family where the mum is dying of cancer. I wasn’t asking to be special, but I am different, because I’m the only person in class whose Mummy died.” As the words left her mouth, Rose lost the battle to keep her tears at bay. They began to slide silently down her cheeks as she looked long and hard at the coffee in her cup.

Mycroft let out a soft sigh as Rose began to cry. He stood up with his coffee in one hand and offered the other to her. “Let’s find somewhere else to talk,” he suggested. “Bring your coffee and we’ll go to the sitting room.” It would be much easier to comfort and cuddle Rose in the sitting room and her dishes could wait and be put in the sink later. When Rose put her hand in his, Mycroft squeezed it gently before leading the way to the sitting room. The moment he sat on the couch, Mycroft had a lap full of Rose, whether he was ready and willing or not!

Nestling against him, Rose rested her head against her big brother’s chest as her tears continued to fall silently. She wasn’t ready to talk yet and somehow Mycroft seemed to know that. Rather than try to force her to do so, Mycroft began to gently rock Rose as he held her. He couldn’t help but be reminded of all the times he’d rocked her and soothed her in the years since she’d been born. Mycroft also couldn’t help wondering whether or not Rose was getting too old for such babying. After all, hadn’t he been telling Benchley just that morning that Rose would be twelve in a few months?

In this moment and this situation, though, Rose would never be too old for comforting. The death of their mother was a wound that would not quickly heal, if it ever did at all. At best, the wound would metaphorically scab over and on occasion break open before scabbing again. Neither of them knew how long they sat there quietly together but finally Rose got her tears in check and reached for her mug of rapidly cooling coffee.

“Why didn’t you come to me Rose? When Mrs. Hadley wouldn’t listen? That’s a very valid reason to ask for another book,” Mycroft pointed out, his tone gentle. “I’d have contacted her and settled this for you. We’ve talked before about you trying to shield me from thinking about Mother. I am happy to talk about her whenever you like, and will readily explain our loss to the school’s faculty as need be. You didn’t have to try and solve it on your own and end up in trouble,” he reminded her.

“I’m sorry,” Rose murmured between sips of coffee. “How much trouble am I in?” She looked up at Mycroft, her eyes searching his as she waited for an answer.

Unfortunately, the answer was not so easily had as that. Mycroft had originally intended to spank her for being disrespectful of both her teacher and her schoolwork, but that was before he knew the whole story. Now that he did, a spanking seemed much too harsh. “You are in trouble,” Mycroft confirmed. “But how much remains to be seen. If you did not read the book, what exactly was written on your book report?”

“Nothing bad,” Rose said. “It was a protest letter in a way. It wrote it in Greek just to make a point, not to get away with say things I shouldn’t. I’ll show you.” Slipping off his lap, Rose went to retrieve her book bag, which had been left by the front door as usual. She dragged it into the sitting room and placed it on a chair so she could easily look through it. “Here!” Rose said, pulling the paper out after a moment’s search. “You can read it.”

Mycroft accepted the paper from her and scanned it briefly. Rose had been truthful with her description of the report. It was a letter that explained about Mother’s death and that Rose was ‘very distraught’ at the idea of reading a book that would hit so close to home for her, hence the decision to write this letter. “I think you should write this in English and give it to Mrs. Hadley,” Mycroft decided. He folded the paper and handed it back to Rose. “I’ll call and speak with the school in the morning and see if we cannot get an alternative assignment for you, given the circumstances. You shouldn’t be forced to read something like that. I’m certain something can be worked out.

“As for being in trouble, I think an early bedtime will suffice. You do not need to take things into your own hands. If you spoke to Mrs. Hadley and it did not go well, your next recourse is me. Not writing a letter of protest in Greek, knowing it will annoy your teacher.” Mycroft could only imagine it had annoyed the woman a great deal, and he couldn’t blame her on that score. “An hour earlier bedtime, which means you should run upstairs and get ready for bed. You don’t have to sleep if you aren’t tired, but you will be in bed.”

“No spanking?” Rose asked, sounding surprised.

“Not this time. If it happens again, there certainly will be,” Mycroft warned. He was completely unsurprised to find his arms full of Rose once again, and gave her a tight squeeze. “Go on up and get ready for bed,” he instructed after a moments cuddle. He smiled a bit as Rose bounded off towards the stairs to do as she’d been told.

Bouncing up to her room to change into her pajamas, Rose stopped short when she spotted a brightly colored gift bag sitting on her bed. Frowning, she moved closer to it and tried to deduce what it was, aside from the obvious. There wasn’t much to deduce though—the bag was largely plain with simple yet brightly colored stripes as the pattern. No tag accompanied it, no fancy ribbons, and no balloons. In fact, there wasn’t even a card! Just tissue paper put into the top of the bag so the present could not immediately be seen.

One of her brothers had to be the one to leave it for her, though Rose couldn’t think of anything she’d done recently to earn a gift. Perhaps it was a ‘just because’ gift? Shrugging a bit, she grabbed the bag and headed downstairs, following the sound of her brothers voices in the kitchen. The two men were finishing off the coffee when Rose bounded in. “I got a present!” she announced, putting it on the table. Almost at once she began to pull away the tissue paper to find out what was inside the bag.

Mycroft’s lips thinned in annoyance, certain that part of Sherlock’s disappearance from the supper table was attributed to the present. “A word brother mine,” he demanded. He turned at once to exit the kitchen, expecting Sherlock to follow. He was pleased to see that for once Sherlock knew how to obey! Mycroft led the way out to the sitting room before saying anything to his brother. “Sherlock, I really must protest giving the Baby gifts on the same day that a note comes home,” Mycroft said, giving his brother a dark look. “It seems counterproductive and certainly makes *my* job--”

“As the mean brother,” Sherlock interjected.

“…As the eldest and generally the only one instilling discipline around here,” Mycroft continued on. “That much harder when you continually put me in a bad spot by spoiling her. That’s where the ‘mean brother’ comes into things, because now the ‘mean brother’ is going to take away her present. Little girls who get notes sent home about poor behavior do not get presents.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed at Mycroft, affronted by the accusation that he spoiled Rose. It was a charge quite regularly levied at him, it seemed. “I don’t understand why you’re lecturing _me_ about this. I didn’t get her a present and, quite clearly, neither did you. I believe, brother mine, it behooves us to find out who _did_.”

It was just about that time when both Holmes men realized that it was unusually quiet in the house, particularly with a present involved. Ice-cold fear ran began pumping through Mycroft’s veins. He ran towards the kitchen, uncertain what he would find but, considering what he did for a living, it could literally be anything at all.

Anything, that is, except what he found.

As Mycroft entered the kitchen, his eyes caught the sight of two small boxes on the table, one labeled ‘tampons’ and the other ‘pads.’ Sitting alongside the boxes were two booklets, one of which was titled ‘Hello Flo- Her First Period- Get Ready Guide for Parents.’

None of which had ever entered the realm of possibilities that had raced through his mind a moment ago as to what could be contained in the gift bag. “What in god’s name is... _this_?!” Mycroft demanded of no one in particular.

“Woman things,” Rose said confidently, not looking up from a book she was scanning. “This one is for you.” She pointed at the parents’ guide but was not surprised when Mycroft did not immediately pick it up.

“I am very, very confused and alarmed,” Sherlock announced as he joined his siblings in the kitchen. “What is all this, where did it come from, and can it go away please?” Of course he knew what they were, both he and Mycroft did. The problem was that he did not want to think about his baby sister needing items associated with menstruating. Nor did he want to see her with said items!

Ignoring Sherlock, Mycroft looked at the other items on the table. Not the pads and tampons, but the other slim books that were visible. Each of them had some sort of title regarding body changes, periods, and ‘growing up stuff,’ as one book oh-so-eloquently put it. He couldn’t help cringing at the very idea of even discussing this with Rose. Where would he start? It wasn’t as if he couldn’t explain the science behind menstruation and other body changes that came with puberty. The issue came more from the fact that he could not offer any personal experience or confirmations that such and such a thing was perfectly normal because he, being a man, would have absolutely no insights to offer Rose as their mother surely would have.

“Where did this come from?” Mycroft asked. His tone was firmer this time, trying to draw Rose’s attention away from the book she had in her hands.

Sighing heavily Rose put the book (Girls’ Life Head-to-Toe Guide) down and reached into the bag once more. “From Bethany. I found a card at the bottom of the bag.”

“Isn’t that your PA?” Sherlock asked as he began to spread a tablecloth over the offensive womanly items on the table. He simply _could not_ look at them! “You should fire her,” he decided. Much to his regret, he was completely ignored by his siblings.

“I guess she thought I might need some... _things_ soon,” Rose explained. “She wasn’t sure if you’d know what to get or if I’d even be comfortable asking you, so she got me some books to answer any questions. And also the _things_ so I would have them when it was time.”

Mycroft stood there for a moment, simply looking at Rose as his face flooded with color. He couldn’t decide whether or not he was horrified or incredibly relieved that Benchley had taken it upon herself to provide Rose with the items associated with womanhood. Ultimately, he was relieved beyond measure and found that this morning’s abbreviated conversation, interrupted by the German chancellor, now made far more sense.

Knowing he should say something to make this feel normal for Rose, Mycroft had to clear his throat before he could do so. Even then, he wasn’t certain what to say! Finally he went with a generic response that he hoped would be sufficient. “Naturally, if you have any questions…” Mycroft prayed she would never, ever ask him questions about this, even if she did have them!

“You are the last person on the entire planet I would ask,” Rose responded, her tone deadly serious. “Bethany said I could call her anytime and I will, if I need to.”

The eldest Holmes let out a massive sigh of relief. “Thank god for that! Upstairs with you; pajamas and bed. I’ll be up shortly.” Mycroft sent Rose on her way with a light smack on the bottom and watched as she thundered up the stairs with the gift bag. Once she was out of view, Mycroft retrieved his mobile from his pocket to send a text.

 ‘Thank you. M’

‘No problem sir. B’


End file.
